


Bloody Cross Chronicles

by Words_and_Worlds



Category: Vampire Knight (Anime & Manga)
Genre: "Sang-suelle" Romance and YES this is a french pun, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Badass Zero and I KNOW this is a pleonasm please leave me alone, Bloody Romance, Dark Romance, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Multi, Mystery, Slow Burn, Suspense, badass yuuki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 192,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Words_and_Worlds/pseuds/Words_and_Worlds
Summary: .."Between a Pureblood princess and a renowned hunter, there could be no future. Yet, chance always pulled them together. Wherever they are now, may they be at peace...My name is Sayori. Wakaba Sayori. People used to call me Yori. Yuuri and Zero were my dearest friends.I'm the only one to know their true story... Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"...Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence.Follows exactly the plot of the manga up until chapter 47, with Yuuki's transformation and her leaving the Academy with Kaname, then breaks away to offer a whole other setting.Five years after Yuuki’s departure, Kiryu Zero has drawn a line under the one he had ended up falling in love with. Now a fearsome hunter, he completes his missions for the Association under multiple aliases, juggling between his vampire nature and his numerous human identities. But one night, as nostalgia looms, a familiar silhouette appears, to give him a singular mission...





	1. Chapter Zero : Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction has been published but not completed a first time in 2008, then edited and finished in 2015 and 2016.
> 
> It's freely inspired by Vampire Knight, which belongs, just like its characters, to its mangaka, Master Matsuri Hino. This fic follows exactly the plot of the manga up until chapter 47, with Yuuki's transformation and her leaving the Academy with Kaname. The story then breaks away from the original series to offer a whole other setting. Yet you may find many references and homages to the original work, as the objective is to give the fans a new spin on the series.
> 
> .
> 
> Yet the story aims to respect the original manga. The Vampire Knight universe will be more developed and yet will try to follow the spirit of the original series, as well as the pairings. Thus, there won't be any more yaoi than there is in Matsuri Hino's work.
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> We hope you'll have as much pleasure reading the first act of Bloody Cross Chronicle that we had writing and translating it.
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> Elenthya  
> Web publication assistant
> 
> .  
> Vanamonde  
> Web translation assistant  
> .  
> Ghostbunny,  
> As our gentle and talented beta-reader

 

 

 

 

 

_** Prelude ** _

.

** The Hunter and the Writer **

 

 

 

 

Seven years.

Seven years since she left this study after a fit of anger. Seven years since she deserted this great, book-filled room, filled with memories and history, as disorderly as her thoughts back then. As her feelings.

 

It had been seven years. _Already_...

Eyes dry but heavy-hearted, she stared thoughtfully at the book before her. Hesitantly, she lifted the great bound cover, surprised by its weight. A smell of old vellum and ink suddenly surrounded her; familiar, strangely welcoming and soothing. Her fingers stroked the paper that she once chose for its quality, so thin, so peculiar. Like her thoughts, like her uncountable memories, it had not aged a day, waiting for her. Patiently. Religiously.

Perusing through the pages, lost in thoughts, she suddenly stopped on a familiar word in the middle of the story. Her heart leapt in her chest, and a veil fell over her eyes.

 

“ _Yuuki”_

 

She put her hands to her face, and drew a deep breath. She didn’t want to cry. Not anymore. She had cried enough all these years. It was time to move forward...

Or was it time to get back to it? After all, she had made a promise: to tell their story. In her mind, she saw again the brunette clad in her uniform, her short dishevelled hair, her candid smile. Her gleeful and caring voice became almost too real as she grabbed her hand and led her through the Academy corridors.

“ _Yori-chan…!”_

She abruptly closed the heavy volume. Cut short, the memory disappeared into the void. The sound rumbled in the disordered room, echoing on the book-filled shelves before fading away into a deep silence. Breathing erratically, she kept her hand on the dark red cover, devoid of title or decoration. She closed her eyes and, for a while, tried to control the frantic pounding of her heart.

She couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ fall into the same traps than seven years ago. She couldn’t allow it.

It would be the death of her...

But how to do it? The dreams, the memories, both her own and the ones given onto her, all these images were clustered in her mind, flinging themselves to her in a senseless symphony. For her, this great, proliferating universe, filled with feelings and sentiments, had a meaning. But for everyone else? For the paper onto which she had tried to confess for so long?

She stared at the heavy tome sadly, and glanced at _the others_ , piled up in a corner of her room, as many evidences of her numerous failures, thrown there in a fit of frustrated rage. At last she dared to admit it: it wasn’t the right medium. She had always loved to write, to illuminate, draw ink arabesques, sketches and tailpieces: it had been her living for a long time now. She loved to hold against her the tomes, patiently and dutifully filled during her sleepless nights, like a tangible expression of what was playing inside her head. But a book, with its bound, set pages, couldn’t decently gather all that she wanted to write, just like she was unable to write chronologically the stories that had been haunting her dreams and burning her lips for years.

Resigned, she pushed away the heavy book to a corner of her desk. Then, vaguely doubtful, looked a some printing paper that was laying nearby. She usually used it for first drafts. She grabbed a few sheets, a pen, and took a deep breath.

And the great question emerged, as always when she started a new project: where to start?

Rather than frantically search for a catchline, as she had been taught in lit class, she closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, visualizing the emptiness of the page rather than staring at it.

Another familiar face appeared then, blurry and ever-changing because of the multiple sources she had. In a dizzying succession of images, sounds and perceptions, he looked defiant, teasing and even, for one split second, _affectionate_. This man always had numerous sides, and not many people knew them all.

This time he appeared serious and inquisitive, and she finally recognized him as he always acted toward her. Distant but friendly, respectful. Sometimes even protective.

“ _Yori.”_

Around him, an austere setting appeared. A silver gun appeared emerged from the nothingness. A tattoo. Pensive amethyst-coloured irises.

She opened her eyes, making hers the calmness of this distant voice. And, in a trance, she began to write.

.

.

.

.

Distractingly, the man turned the old TV on. A scrambled image appeared, cleared up in a muffled buzzing, before showing blurred forms and pale colours. The sound, however, remained bad, constantly scattered by spluttering and white noise. Sitting on a table which, along with a chair and an unmade bed, was the only furniture in the room, the man seemingly paid no attention to what the old television set was broadcasting. His inscrutable eyes were fixed upon the blade of the sabre he was patiently polishing, with a pensive meticulousness only habit can bring.

In a corner of the small, off-white impersonal room, a travelling bag awaited, barely open and still full. The man had to be able to leave as quickly as possible, and thus had only unpacked the bare minimum.

Between his callous, skilled fingers, the whetstone slid with a slight whistling sound. The steel, little by little, became shiny again. On the table, several tools awaited, stashed in a leather strip. A vial with foreign instructions written on it and a red-stained rag completed the man’s equipment.

The TV then emitted a high-pitched music announcing a news flash. The newsreader, a well-dressed man in his forties, started to recite his informations in a monotonous tone. They were without a doubt extremely important since they “briefly interrupted the current program”. The man did not even frown, until a very precise word fell into his attentive ears.

“ _This academy, also called the_ _ **Cross Academy**_ _, from the name of its now-missing headmaster...”_

The whistle of the whetstone stopped. Imperturbable, the man glanced at the television. On screen was a great building of Victorian style. The boarded-up windows added a sinister look to its imposing appearance. While the newsreader continued his speech, the camera panned on alleys bordered by untrimmed trees, flowerbeds full of weeds. A swan-shaped fountain appeared briefly; from the moss and the weeds, it had dried out a long time ago. At first glance, it was clear that the place had been abandoned for years.

“ _...was not very well-known because of its remote location. The case, which never made more than a paragraph in the papers back then, takes today a whole new meaning with the testimony of several former students, who came by themselves in our studios to testify...”_

The ivy-covered run down walls disappeared from the screen to make way for a human silhouette, sitting comfortably in an armchair. Despite the mosaic on her face and her transformed voice, one could guess that she was a young woman in her twenties.

“ _One day, we were all gathered with no explanations. We were led to the basement to take shelter from a “threat”. Even the teachers looked like they had no idea what was going on, but they all looked worried. At first we thought it was an earthquake alert or something like that. Then, we were locked up in the reception hall of the school, and we stayed there all evening and all night. The headmaster had all the doors and the windows blocked up, but we heard very disturbing noises outside...”_

The young woman, until then quite talkative suddenly quieted, hesitant. Her invisible interviewer immediately rekindled her testimony:

“ _What kind of noises?”_

“ _...Screams, mostly. It was as if...as if people were fighting outside. There was also something like an earthquake, but we learnt later that it was a whole building that had crumbled down. And, then, there was...scrapping against the shutters...as if someone was scratching with their fingernails. As if they wanted to come inside. It was...it was very distressing.”_

“ _Did you lose somebody that day?”_

“ _Y-yes...unfortunately. Two of my classmates disobeyed the teachers and sneaked outside. We...we never saw them again.”_

Another person around the same age, anonymized too, appeared on the screen. This time, it was a man.

“ _What happened then?”_ asked the interviewer. He probably asked the same questions to each witness.

“ _The teachers allowed us to get back to the dorms. Part of the school was destroyed, as if there had been a war...”_

“ _You mean there were bodies?”_

“ _No, not at all! No blood either...but the furnitures were smashed, the windows broken...as if there had been a fight. A fight to the death. I didn’t pay attention at first, but a friend of mine noticed something odd...”_

“ _What was it?”_

“ _Sand...or dust, maybe? We didn’t really know. But it was everywhere, even in rooms with no broken windows. A friend who had an interest in geology tried to collect some, to analyse it, but all his samples were confiscated on the Headmaster’s orders.”_

A third woman was interrogated the same way, anonymous behind her pixel veil.

“ _Do you have an idea of what had happened then?”_

“ _Honestly, I still don’t know to this day. The atmosphere was really weird after that, almost...electric. And at the same time, it was very calm. Like after a storm, you know? You could feel something happened, but you didn’t know how it ended. The school was really messed up. No one ever told us what happened.”_

“ _Can you think of any culprit? Even a vague idea?”_

The transformed voice almost fell into a whisper. The woman was hesitating, as if she knew the risks of such a declaration.

“ _Honestly?...Maybe it had nothing to do with it, but half of the Night Class was missing after this. The most popular ones were gone. Caused quite a ruckus.”_

“ _Could you tell us a bit more about this Night Class?”_

“ _Well...it was an odd pack...they all had their lessons at night or on the evening. We weren’t supposed to mingle with them. And their dorms were separated from ours, outside the campus.”_

“ _They had different uniforms and teachers”, tried out another former student, less sure of herself. “I think I remember they were all from big aristocratic families...”_

“ _The jewel of society...”_

“ _From very good families, I’d say...”_

“ _Spoiled brats, you know. And quite sexy, believe me!”_

The interviewer’s voice asked a new question to all the witnesses:

“ _When the Academy closed, did you keep in touch with members of the Night Class?”_

Their answers then were all very similar.

“ _No, I lost contact with all of them.”_

“ _No...they weren’t very sociable, you know...”_

“ _No idea what happened to them...not that I didn’t try to contact one of them...”_

“ _Were they not foreigners? I think they were. Maybe that’s why they disappeared, they were from another country...”_

“ _They were weird”,_ one witness concluded. _“I never trusted them.”_

The newsreader reappeared on screen.

“ _And so, the mystery surrounding the Cross Academy keeps thickening. I must remind you that half of its students are still reported missing, as well as the most part of the administrative files regarding said Night Class. Our local reporters questioned the population about the more than suspicious habits of this school...”_

Turning away from the TV, the man began to polish his sabre again. From the open window, a spring breeze was blowing on the small country city. Everything still looked the same. But the man smiled bitterly.

“ _Well, Kurosu Kaien...no matter what you do to hide it, blood remains. And ends up revealing the past.”_

He got up and sheathed his sabre. After a small hesitation, he checked the other channels received by the old television. All of them were talking about the Cross case, which was about to gain an international repute.

“ _I’d rather lay low...”_

He gathered his gear in less than a minute, and threw the red-stained cloth into the wood-burner. It let off an acrid smell as it burned. The man put the sabre into his travelling bag – yet still within easy reach –, and put on his long black coat. He quickly tied his grey hair into a ponytail, and readjusted the turtle-neck covering his tattooed throat. His bag on his shoulder, he left the room without looking back, his strange amethyst-coloured eyes already turned towards another future.

That very evening, he had left the country. He had only been back for a few hours.

.

.

.

.

She stopped, her pen still in the air, and inspired shakily. Out of her trance, she rubbed her eyes. How long had she been writing on that piece of paper? _Pieces_ of paper, she corrected when she saw the number of pages she had covered with her hurried writing. With a frozen hand – it was always like this when she sat down this long – she massaged her sore neck and closed her eyes.

She whispered to herself:

“Did I do you justice, Zero-kun?”

A too-rapid succession of memories seemed to answer her – or was she just imagining his reply? – But she caught a glimpse of him, turning his back to her, hands in pockets and shrugging, as if to say that it did not matter much. She chuckled.

He disappeared, and another silhouette took his place, smaller, more feminine, familiar despite her obvious physical change and her lack of uniform.

“ _Yori-chan…?”_

A strange spleen struck her, and the writer lost her smile, torn between frustration, sadness and the joy of feeling her presence again. Absent-mindedly, she pushed away the ink-covered pages, and grabbed a new one.

Before plunging into the memory, she was struck by an intuition. With a light movement of her hand, something she usually reserved to her sketches and illuminations, she drew what she immediately knew to be the title of this grandiose, crazy project.

The first initial – a wonderful, aerial B – unfolded on the paper. She let the ink flow, sketching out the rest of the word with her best writing. Blood, everlasting; its power and the life it symbolized. Its curse, too. A silver weapon, one man’s symbol, the coat of arms of a profession. She already saw the word written on a vellum paper of the finest quality, embellished with a shiny, imperial red ink. “ _ **Bloody**_.”

The second initial followed, all in curves and lightness. A symbol, but also an academy close to all their hearts, destroyed long ago but never forgotten. And the former name of her closest friend. “ _ **Cross**_.”

The final initial, identical and yet different in its outline, its finish. The slenderness of the letters completed the title, giving the whole ensemble its entire dimension. Because her multiple failures taught her that there could not be just one story, one tale, one narrator, one hero. That a multitude of fates would cross each other into an enormous but coherent thread.

“ _ **Chronicles**_.”

She stared at the three outlined words, dumbstruck, and finally frowned. What was the point in imagining a hooking title, a well-designed cover? She wasn’t writing one of those novels which earned her fame. No one but her would lay their eyes upon what she was about to begin again. No one...

She hesitated, then shook her head and pushed away the sketch, telling herself she would go back to it later – or destroy it. – She grabbed a new page hurriedly. Once again, her pen froze in mid-air, unsure. Where to start? The story was far too complex to have but one starting point...

She blinked, and a snowy landscape appeared in her thoughts. A northern, remote city. A stormy night. _He_ , a lonely hunter finishing a mission in this desolated region. _She_ , who had appeared without a warning with the most stunning of requests...

Yes. Come to think of it, their reunion had been the starting point. At least, that was how she saw it. She, Sayori “Yori” Wakaba, mere story-teller of events she never actually lived. She threw herself with abandon into that memory, which happened five years after Yuuki left the Academy. Only a few months after what had been coldly called the _Revelation_ , this dark and chaotic chapter of History where, for the first time, humankind had realized that vampires were real.

Her pen flew on the paper. As a perfect illustration of its spontaneity, her chapter took a natural, obvious title.

“ _ **Suddenly”.**_

_**.** _

_**.** _

_**** _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: English is not my first language and, despite my best efforts, mistakes may linger. Don't hesitate to point them out to me! I'll fix them as quick as I can.


	2. Chapter One: Suddenly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence.  
> Follows exactly the plot of the manga up until chapter 47, with Yuuki's transformation and her leaving the Academy with Kaname, then breaks away to offer a whole other setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading...

 

__

 

_Regret is a burden on the mind, a bloody cross_

_Someone carries in their old day on their tired back..._

 

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**Chapter One**

 

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**Suddenly**

 

 

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She surreptitiously watches him. He immediately feels it, but feigns indifference. When he looks at her at last, she stares back, unblinking. An instinctive and gentle desire pulls them together. They study each other in silence, even if they both feel they know everything of the other by heart. There is always something to rediscover into the eyes of a loved one; a feeling, a special desire. A spark of light, a shadow of doubt or a past-induced veil.

Their eyes conveyed everything. Even now, they were learning to converse without words, to discover each other without speaking. After all, they had all the time in the world. Immortal creatures, what was time for them? An abstract, baseless notion, another telling sign that they were above every other living and thinking beings...

They join hands. Their fingers brush against each other. She raises her arm, strokes his silky hair. He grabs her waist in an imperious gesture, yet as gentle as if she was the most fragile, precious treasure. Their lips meet, touch, their breath shuddering and moaning. A tender and hesitant dance, turning as frantic and absolute as the movement of their hands onto the other’s cherished body.

The death of reason. She stretches her neck. He tastes the offered flesh with his affectionate tongue, caresses her ivory shoulders, slowly fondles her warm and delicate curves. She sighs, her eyes half-open.

Cascading desires. His skilful caresses vanquish and lavish her at the same time. She curls up in his arms, against him, warmer and at his mercy. Under her frail hand, she feels her lover’s tempting, beating carotid artery. Her fangs lengthen as she gets drunk of his scent. Her sharp white pearls pierce her loved one’s neck, and she feels it, at last: life itself flowing on her tongue in a powerful and rough flow.

Exhilaration of the senses. The divine and apocalyptic smell of blood, her lover’s blood. Consummation of their elation, while he himself savours her vital fluid at the base of her slender neck, into a passionate embrace.

Sating a thirst, awakening another. Desire growls, murmurs, and they throw themselves into it in abandon.

Madness of love, tempest of pleasure. Life is nothing but an endless whirlwind...

 

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She opened her eyes, still exalted by her dream. This emotion had been surprisingly powerful...

Forgetting her nagging thirst, her ragging breath, she forced herself to sheathe her canines and licked the blood on her hand, which she savagely bit during her sleep. In a haze, she looked up to the window, studying the light filtering in-between the curtains. The sun was setting. It was time.

Reluctantly, she left the disordered bed, freshened up and packed up a travel bag. After tidying up her hair and put on her long beige coat, she went down to the reception. Inside the hall, which served as a mess too in this rural inn, other travellers – trappers coming down from their mountains and highway pilgrims – were speaking in hushed voices.

“The government...heard they’re gonna hunt them down, too.”

“Ha! If them “civilized” countries are already chasing after those bloodsuckers, we might as well get on with it.”

“Yeah, but frankly! Vampires? You believe that?”

“Been playing hermits up there in your mountain for long, eh? To be as naive as you are! They been talking about it for months. Those people actually exist, and some lunatic even tried to make a school for them, in another country...”

“Yeah! That’s how we knew they were real. The school was destroyed years ago, and the headmaster went on a lam, but word got out. Without journalists to talk about it, those bastards would still be hiding their crimes...”

“A school for vampires! You’re pulling my leg! Why not some other for werewolves, or wizards while you’re at it?”

Jeers and laughters rang off. Imperturbable, the young woman ignored them and walked to the front desk to pay for her room. She was always polite but distant, and yet the innkeeper seem to have grown fond of her.

“Say, Missy, night’s falling, and with the winter wind, it’s not safe to travel…And that’s leaving aside what people are talking about. Where are you going?”

The young woman remained doubtful, and the innkeeper felt like she had to carry on:

“With weather like this, there’s not that many travellers, and most of them are heading to Klasdic...”

“That’s where I’m going.”

Her voice was faint, a bit coarse: she had just woken up. The innkeeper gave her a half-worried, half-surprised look.

“Okay then, Missy. But the road isn’t safe, and there’s a storm coming. If you want to, a trader’s caravan is going back to Klasdic. They’re leaving in ten minutes. You’ll be there in two hours. The fare’s twenty leis.”

The young woman seemed to ponder, before putting on the desk a small but full purse.

“One ticket, if you please.”

“Hey, Missy, there’s more than twenty leis in there”, the innkeeper protested as she gave her a ticket.

“Keep it. That’s for your welcome.”

She had a shadow of a smile, which saddened the strong heart of the innkeeper. The unknown woman gave her a weak but charming nod.

“Thank you for everything.”

She walked to the door, her bag in her hand. The innkeeper sighed, hesitated, then called her one last time:

“Missy! Be sure to cover up. It snowed again today, and the closer you’ll be to Klasdic, the worse it’s gonna get, believe me.”

The young woman gave her an unreadable look, then nodded, tightening the sides of her beige coat. The innkeeper, along with other travellers, looked at the proud silhouette walking away her long braided hair pulled back on her neck. A biting cold greeted the young woman as soon as she was outside, but she simply put on her fur-lined hood and closed the door behind her.

“Another young foolish girl thinking she could live the high life away from home”, grumbled the manager nearby in a condescending tone. “Must be an outcast.”

“Or maybe a gal who angered her old man by refusing an arranged marriage”, whispered the saddened innkeeper. “Who can say? Poor thing...”

 

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The pen was running on the paper, its writing light and aerial, unstoppable despite the grief that grasped her. Yori sketched with a steady hand the arabesque ending the memory, closing the chapter.

Almost without thinking, without even looking, she grabbed another piece of paper on top of an ever-diminishing pile. The scratch of the pen echoed once again in the silence of the room, frantic on the blank paper. Immediately, the writing became squarer, more masculine, and the first memory disappeared: sadness and desolating despair faded away, leaving way to another kind of gloom, more moderate, filled with loneliness and resignation.

In a trance, Yori did not react when a tear ran on her cheek, before falling on a paper with a plaintive sound.

 

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“No more room. Sorry, man.”

Imperturbable, the man simply frowned, which gave him an ominous look. From an inside pocket of his long black coat, he produced a bundle of bank notes.

“And for this, are you certain you’ve got nothing...man?”

The innkeeper ogled the notes. It must have been one of the most tempting offers he received this week. His eyes returned to the traveller’s face. He had come out of nowhere, with a crumpled coat, a dubious travel bag and dishevelled grey hair. He definitely played his cards close to his chest.

“No, sir”, he replied regretfully. “Sorry, all my rooms are booked and I already took in far more tenants than I should. With this blizzard coming up, sir, even the most reckless would rather have a roof over their heads tonight in Klasdic.”

“I see...”

With a heavy heart, the innkeeper watched the stranger put the notes back in his pocket.

“If I may, sir, the hotel at the end of the street is managed by a friend of mine. It’s more expensive, but there must be rooms left, sir.”

The stranger stared at him with indifference, before nodding his thanks. With his bag on his shoulder, he caught the curious and unfriendly stares of the tenants. Though he had been inconspicuous, his money hadn’t. It didn’t matter; he made his way to the door, showing surreptitiously the sabre he carried on his hip, as well as the gun in his shoulder holster.

Just before going through the door into the freezing night, he instinctively – or nervously – adjusted the turtle-neck over his tattooed throat.

Following the innkeeper’s advice, he went to the designated hotel. As expected, it had rooms left. He was at first doubtful when faced with the outrageous price asked of him, but quickly changed his mind when he heard the moans of the blizzard already raging outside.

A quiet servant led the newcomer upstairs. Behind his composure, he studied his surroundings carefully. The hotel happened to be a vast manor as well as one of Klasdic’s oldest building, recently renovated. The hallways were dark and not very welcoming, but at least they were clean and well-cared for.

They finally reached his designated room, but, under the fury of the storm, the electric lights – a rarity in Klasdic – went suddenly out. With an assurance born of habit, the servant grabbed a candlestick in the corridor and went on showing the place as if nothing was wrong.

The room was, in fact, a suite, with a bedroom, a small standing-room, and a bathroom; a more than welcome luxury. After lighting up some candles and starting a fire in the hearth, the servant asked if the newcomer was hungry. He was ready to bring him a tray of food, but the client politely declined. The affable servant exited the room after a low bow.

Alone at last, the stranger put down his travel bag and, out of habit, rapidly explored his surroundings. The furnitures as well as the four-poster bed were austere but expensive-looking. He sighed; no wonder they asked him such a high sum. But it was far better than spending the night outside.

Wearily, he threw his coat on an armchair and stood in front of the crackling firelight.

Suddenly, a bout of nostalgia hit him. An old, vast building, creaking but standing strong under the storm, full of old, varnished wooden furniture...all of this brought back old memories, not all of them unpleasant...

Long, dark and windy hallways, which he had so often walked during his countless patrols. The dull creaking of the wood boards. The gigantic oaken staircase, the great panelled windows, letting through the milky light of the moon, everlasting companion of their sleepless nights. The warm and woody smell of the old furniture, their smooth surface betraying years of history...

A shiver – quite real, this time – brought him back to the present time. He analysed it, recognized it at once. A

presence. In the next room. Unwelcome.

“Show yourself.”

He turned slowly, his amethyst-coloured eyes sparkling in the firelight. He stared at the door at the back of the room, leading to the bathroom. After a moment, a silhouette in a beige coat appeared in the door frame.

It was a woman. Average build. In her twenties, maybe. It was all his sharp eye could see for now. Her face, hidden in the shadow of her hood, remained invisible. She was too far away from the candles or the fireplace, and the pale moon in a nearby window barely shed any light on her.

The familiar feeling she had awoken in the man disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Tristahn Kelos?” whispered a melodic, unknown voice.

The man did not stir. It did not seem to faze her.

“Yes, I know this isn’t the name on your papers and this hotel registry. It doesn’t matter. I am not part of the help, and I myself use this method quite often. There is something soothing in anonymity.”

The stranger remained calm, but all his senses were alert. Although she spoke almost perfectly the language of the Klasdic region, she still had a very small accent, betraying the fact that she was not from here. Her coat, which looked warm, comfortable yet practical, seemed to belong to a frequent traveller.

“You act like you know me, madam.”

He looked for her gaze in the darkness, in vain, but he already knew what it was about. Firmly, he grabbed his gun. Without taking his eyes off from the apparition, he cocked it briskly.

“Now we can talk, vampire”, he whispered.

Suddenly, a violent gush of wind swept into the room. Like a violent and powerful breath, it blew all the candles as well as the fire in the chimney. His vision impaired but all his other senses in alert, the man calmly aimed his gun at the silhouette. Focused, he sensed no animosity in the room. After a while, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and confirmed what all his other senses told him: the vampiress had not moved.

Under the moonlit-window, she walked slowly toward him, the heels of her travel boots echoing gently on the woodboards floor. For one moment, he almost recognized this way of walking; steadily and yet with a kind of unique innocence of a child facing danger. This peculiar feeling crossed his mind and deserted him immediately after, a perfect illustration of _déjà-vu_.

The vampiress chose a nearby armchair. Carefully, she parted the sides of her coat, sat down and crossed her legs with perfect elegance. The man saw in it her will to look armless, but also – and more importantly – an aristocratic presence. Although her face remained hidden under her hood, he could now see the black velvet blouse adorned with lace complimenting her curves, the dark tights covering her legs, and her gloves refining her hands and forearms, giving her an aura of both past and present. Eternity made attire.

Vampire, indeed. But among her kind, this woman wasn’t just anyone.

Without taking his eyes off the apparition, he studied one last time their surroundings. The intruder was alone, with no ill intent...at least for now. Still on his guard, the man sat on the bed, on the edge of the room, his revolver still in hand. He expected the vampire to tell him to put his gun away – something he would instantly refuse – but she just stared at him in silence, her hands crossed on her lap. Since her armchair was in the way of the last remaining candle, he could only vaguely discern the features of her face, while she could easily see his, stare into his amethyst eyes.

Had he not been as confident as he was in his own reflexes, he would have admitted it was a bit ominous.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked.

“I would like you to kill someone”, the stranger purred.

“No. I will not risk myself into killing a political figure in this current situation, even with a contract.”

The woman was silent for a short moment, then replied with an icy tone, as if defensive:

“I didn’t even name your target.”

He nodded.

“Vampires don’t need any help to kill a mere human, even less from someone like me. Which means you want to eliminate another vampire. And since personal vendettas are tolerated between low-born vampires or the small aristocracy, I suppose your target is someone far more powerful. A great aristocrat, maybe.”

“This is a solid reasoning”, the vampire admitted, yet without confirming anything.

“Yet, you look like you’re well-informed, and you must know that I honour no contract at the moment. There is already too much tension between our two worlds, and I will not be the one starting the fire.”

“This is true, and your stand made your renown even greater.”

“If so, I will ask you again: why are you there?”

“Because I don’t care if the Hunter’s Association is indecisive, or if the new Senate has been overwhelmed by the situation for months. Tonight, I come not to ask the registered hunter, but the hitman.”

The vampiress’ voice, neutral and gentle, even sometimes hushed, suddenly turned to steel. The man could almost feel the hatred and despair in her tone. Suspicious, he reassured his grip on his pistol.

“I don’t see the difference.”

“The price. I will pay you handsomely, far more than any offer you could have received for an official mission.”

“This is not about money. It’s about the principles.”

The man stood up slowly, almost arrogantly. He looked at the vampire with disdain from between the dishevelled opal-grey bangs on his forehead.

“The human world has scientifically proven the existence of vampires. You are no longer a legend to them, Madam, and your Senate already has no idea what to do with such a crisis on their hands. I don’t plan to worsen things by killing a high figure of the aristocracy. For now, I just remain inactive.”

Silence fell. The vampiress then unlaced the last ties of her coat. Her voice became pensive:

“My existence is no longer a myth, that is true...or rather, _our_ existence, to us both.”

The man was dumbfounded.

“I beg your pardon?”

The woman stood up too, with a swiftness that surprised him once more. This underlying energy, this way of getting up from deep armchair without using the armrests, with grace, delicacy and...speed.

_Déjà-vu…_

“I know far more about you than you think... _Vampire_.”

His eyes widened. In a muffled clacking of heels, the vampire threw her coat on the armchair and advanced toward him.

“How long since you last sated your thirst, mister hunter? I know your ways. There’s not many brothels around here, isn’t it? To think that you have to pay women to drink from their necks, when they’re too weak to cry for help...oh, you do not kill them, that much is true. You don’t even force them. Your charm and your money buy their silence. I suppose _that_ , in your arms, they feel like they’re someone important. After all, you chose them...”

She froze a few paces from him, straight as a ramrod, her fist clenched.

“Decadent hunter and second-rate vampire...you embody the worst of two species. Before your kin, you could be polite enough to accept your true nature, Zero Kiryu!”

Like a still cobra waiting patiently before unfurling for the fateful bite, the vampire’s hate sprung through the room with her venomous words. For the hunter, it was almost as ferocious as a physical attack. Promptly, he raised his weapon and fired.

The shot rang out, a unique detonation rolling, piercing and deep, before disappearing into the furious howls of the blizzard. The crystal chandelier, lost in the darkness above, clinked plaintively under the vibrations. Then silence came back, barely disturbed by the tempest ever howling outside.

The hunter was breathing erratically, trying with difficulty to get his breath under control. Usually cunning and even tactful, he had acted out of instinct. How could he have stayed still, when an unseen air-blade _was slashing his throat_?

He had stepped back just in time. Alert and careful, he felt his neck. The cut was superficial, and was already healing. On the other hand, his turtle-neck fell in two shapeless parts, soaked with his own blood.

On the alabaster skin of his neck, the black tattoo was now in plain view, the last relic of a past long gone...

The smell of blood invaded the room, evanescent, acrid, inescapable and inexorably delicious to the hunter. With surprise, he realized that his blood wasn’t the one responsible for this. To awake such a hunger in him, for his instinct to rouse like this and for his fangs to lengthen, someone else had to be hurt. And not just anyone, he realized with shock, recognizing the flavoursome and unseen scent saturating the room.

He had hit her. The vampiress had not perfectly dodged. She was still in front of him, stooped. The bullet had merely grazed her, scraping her skull and breaking a finely crafted hair grip. It cracked and fell in luminous fragments on the floor. The vampire’s hair cascaded on her frail shoulders in a brown wave, barely hiding the blood pearling on her forehead. Already her wound was closing, donning brown curls.

His senses enhanced by adrenaline and his rising thirst, he stared at the young troublesome woman with bewilderment.

“You haven’t lost your gift for murder, as I can see”, she whispered in a frail but cold voice. “Now that blood has spoken, have you opened your eyes, mister hunter?”

Her mahogany gaze, gleaming and icy, came back on her horror-stricken adversary.

“It can’t be...”

He finally recognized this slim silhouette in the moonlight. She had grown up, become even more beautiful. Her brown hair, once short and straight, was now curling at waist length. Her alabaster skin complimented the surreal glimmer of her hazelnut eyes. Her curves, that her human nature had been slow to develop, had revealed themselves, voluptuous and perfect, thanks to the vampire blood flowing in her veins. More slender than ever, she remained graceful and full of a rare vigour, just like the strength and grace of a wild beast, hidden in a velvet glove.

She was beautiful, harmless to the casual observer. It only made her more dangerous.

He gulped. Dangerous... _especially_ for him.

“I thought you were gone with him.”

Despite his surprise, he managed to calm down. Proud, the vampiress straightened up in the semi-darkness. Her blood has ceased to flow, but left a carmine trail on her beautiful face and on her pearly neck.

“And I thought you had stayed at the Academy, with Kaien and your former master.”

“I sworn I would hunt you down, Yuuki.”

“In this case, it’s rather me who found you, Zero.”

The relative silence of the blizzard fell again while they stared at each other. Her expression unreadable, the young vampiress took off one of her black-laced glove, brushed her wounded temple and examined her reddened fingers. Quickly, she licked the blood off her fingernails, glancing at Zero. She seemed surprised to see him so calm, so intransigent.

“Strange...I thought you were craving blood more than this. Usually, just seeing mine make the strongest loose control.”

Zero did not answer. Without turning his purple eyes from her, he cocked his gun again.

“What do you want?” he groaned, wary.

Yuuki’s eyes glimmered. A brief gush of wind took hold of her and, in the next instant, the blood staining her marble skin had gone. She took a slight breath.

“To talk to you.”

“Nothing changed in five years. I have nothing to say to Kaname Kuran’s sister and lover.”

For one second, Zero’s face darkened with deep disgust. Yuuki did not respond to the insult, even though it was clear under the apparent neutrality of her ex-comrade’s words.

“You just have to listen then. Do it, at least for the sake of our common past.”

“I wrote it off a long time ago, vampire.”

At least, she frowned. She sighed, turned away. It looked like her guard was down, but Zero did not buy it. Nothing was as traitorous as a vampire...he unfortunately knew it too well.

Yuuki stepped towards the window, peering at the storm. The veiled moon rays flowed like a silver aureole on her mahogany hair.

“You pay prostitutes to satiate both your human and vampire desires. I fell in love with my own brother and have been sharing his bed for years. Both of us, we know human society hates such actions. And yet, Zero...are you ashamed of it?”

The young man remained silent. He did not understand what was the point she wanted to make. The vampiress sighed deeply.

“No, me neither”, she whispered without any regret. “Because you and I know now it was the only thing to do.”

Her eyes came back on Zero, inquiring and imperious.

“You pay ladies of the night to temporary satiate your thirst, before it urges you to kill them or other innocent people. It is worthy of praise. You preserve their lives as well as yours.”

She briefly lowered her eyes.

“And I joined my brother in wedlock because it was my will, but also my destiny. Without him, I was wasting away. Without him, I would be a mad vampire since long. You who have been “created” by Hiou Shizuka the grieving lover, you who knew the tantalizing torments of becoming a vampire, but also the experience of having a twin brother...”

The mahogany pupils locked with the hunter’s amethyst.

“...you must have an idea, even vague, of the inescapable love uniting me with Kaname. Nevermind the damnation, the shame, or even the incest. Between us, none of these things exist. This may be what the humans call “soulmate”. To separate us is madness.”

Zero thought he finally saw what she wanted to do: was she trying to create a new bond between them, by showing him this similarity?

“What do you want from me?” he asked again, more softly.

He lowered his weapon, but kept it in his hand. The young vampire stayed neutral, even though Zero’s question might give her hope. At first keeping silent, she straightened herself.

“For you to listen to me”, she said again. “I need your help.”

“Has Kaname sent you?”

“In a way. It’s for him that I came to you.”

“Then say no more. I won’t be another pawn in his endless machinations.”

Deeming the conversation over, Zero turned away. He did not fear to take his eyes off his enemy anymore. He felt she needed him too much to hurt him.

At least, that’s what he though...

“Kaname is dead.”

Zero shuddered upon hearing these words. Yuuki’s voice was barely audible. The vampire he was listened carefully, and almost heard a small whimper. Plaintive, crystalline.

But when he turned to her, there was no tear on Yuuki’s slightly tensed face. Her voice was gloomy, and betrayed nothing but a cold anger.

“Kaname died right before my eyes. And I want you to eliminate his assassin, Zero.”

 

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The pen stopped at the end of the page.

Yori was pulled from her trance by the impatient rattling of her own nails on her empty desk. She had used up her last piece of paper. She shuddered, exhaled at last, and the memory parcelled out, faded away. Yuuki’s immense sorrow disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving her nothing but a strange feeling of emptiness. She finally stopped to be someone else, and regained a painful consciousness of her own body, her own thoughts.

She dropped her pen and, exhausted, leaned on the back of her chair. Her back was aching from bending over her desk for so long. Eyes closed, she threw her head back, drew a long and slow breath.

For the first time since what must have been hours, the silence of the room struck her. With a new eye, she looked at the shelves filled with antique books, that the literature aficionado she was had collected for years. Delicately, she gathered the pages covered with her rushed writing.

“You must have suffered so much. I wish I could have helped you, Yuuki...but back then, I was nothing. Useless.”

From the depths of her mind – a figment of her imagination, or her altered memory?-- a young woman with mahogany eyes gave her a gentle smile, both sad and dreamy, before fading into nothingness.

Sayori Wakaba fiddled pensively with her blond, curly hair, gazing into space. Then she got up suddenly, and her pragmatic mind briefly took over, free at last from the throes of the past.

“...I need more paper.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter Two: Necessary

 

 

_._

_My cross, alone, I cannot carry_

_My anger, surviving, I cannot control_

_You, in this whirl of violence, you looked so peaceful_

_My memories, against your volition, you will have to share..._

 

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**Chapter Two**

**.**

**.**

**Necessary**

**.**

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The flames were dancing in the hearth again, their living light warming the darkened room. Outside, the tempest was howling relentlessly, as if furious of being eluded.

Sitting in the armchair, Zero had kept the Bloody Rose close to hand, but with the safety on. Mindless of the grey bangs falling over his face, he was thinking, his amethyst gaze lost in the flames. With his anthracite hair tied on the back of his neck, long enough to fall on his shoulders, he knew he looked more than ever like his late brother, Ichiru. After his death, he had insidiously felt the need to let his hair grow and tie it, like his brother used to do. Maybe to reinforce the familiar feeling he felt when he saw his face in the mirror, during his endless travels.

But tonight, Zero didn’t like the feeling of déjà-vu surrounding him. The fire in the chimney, the austere furniture, a big ancient house slightly creaking, against the fury of a snowstorm...it looked a bit too much like the winters of his teenage years.

And that was without acknowledging the silent presence at his side. No, Zero didn’t like this. Tonight, he had to face two harsh realities, that he did not have to confront for a long time.

The first one: that this person beside him knew that he was a hunter. An Association member on the paper, in truth more or less a lawless vagrant. A mercenary hunter strong and independent enough to accept or refuse without explanations the mission orders he received from his superiors...even though, with the recent events, the Association had tacitly advised him to play dead. Which would have been his choice anyway.

The second reality, hardly bearable for the patient, cunning and clever man he had become, was that this same person knew everything about his vampire nature. For years, no one had talked so knowingly about this truth: to reveal the harshest secret of his existence, against his entire will, was deeply unnerving to him.

He took a deep breath, irritated. It was as if the storm outside was the physical manifestation of his inner torments...

Trying to remain impassive, he raised his head and looked ostensibly at the young woman. He thought again about the tiny quaver in her voice when she announced the appalling news.

“ _Kaname is dead.”_

For one split second, her mask fell, and she had shown her true sorrow, her immense despair behind her Pureblood shell. Without grasping all of it, he partly understood the grief that led her to him. For one moment, he could have completely forgotten who she was, to only keep in mind what she had been...

Yet now, nothing was troubling the vampiress’ neutral face. Curled in her armchair, her knees to her chest and her mahogany hair slithering on her shoulders, she was gazing absent-mindedly into the flickering flames. Had she not been blinking from time to time, her white skin would have led to think she was nothing but a marble statue, a portrait of serenity itself.

Zero turned his eyes to the hearth.

“I want more informations.”

The marble effigy animated at last, slightly surprised. She stared at him, silent. The dancing flames were reflected in her empty eyes.

“What do you want to know?”

“Absolutely everything. When?”

“It was...twenty-one days ago, precisely. At nightfall.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“I will be the judge of that. Where?”

“In an inhabited and woody land, two hundred kilometres north of Klasdic.”

“What were you doing there?”

“We used to travel a lot the past few years. Since the existence of vampires has gone public, human take a dim view of a couple of strangers like us. Kaname had decided to join one of the last Kuran dwellings faraway from civilisation, the time for the whole affair to be forgotten. Aidou, Kain, Ruka and Seiren had insisted to accompany us.”

Zero dutifully took note of these names from the past. While he had not seen Kaname and Yuuki since they left the Academy, he had come across the four aristocrats several times. Their distrust of him was only matched by the contempt they inspired him. He chased those potential witnesses from his mind, and focused on Yuuki’s story.

“I want to know how Kaname Kuran died.”

Yuuki blinked, closed her eyes painfully.

“I don’t know”, she finally whispered. “I don’t remember.”

Zero frowned, surprised but suspicious.

“What do you mean?”

“I think...that my memory has been erased. I tried to remember for days...but I keep going in circles. I remember what happened before...after...but who did it, who was there, nothing. There’s a black hole.”

“Yuuki, if you’re hiding something from me...”

The vampiress glared at him.

“I walked hundreds of kilometres to find you. I want justice to be served. Would it be in my interests to lie to you?”

Zero recognized that she wasn’t wrong, but shown nothing of it.

“Tell me your last memories.”

Yuuki bit her lip, hid her face against her knees. Circumspect, Zero saw that her hands were clenched so hard her knuckles had turned white.

“We were driving in the deep of the woods when we chose to stop for a moment. Kaname and I walked away from the group for a few moments. He looked nervous...and I wanted only one thing, to finally reach this castle Kaname was telling me about, this dwelling where our parents used to live for a time.”

Yuuki’s voice stopped for a few seconds. When it rose again, it was weak and hesitant. Her hands clenched again.

“I...I don’t know what happened then. My memory’s hazy from there. Everything was going so well! But something appeared, Kaname’s face darkened, he said he wanted to protect me, and...”

A brief sigh escaped her, not quite a sob, more like a muffled scream. Slowly, her hands loosened; one of them went to her heart, while the other clenched the fabric of her dress, around her stomach. She looked up, and her face appeared emotionless in the flickering light. Only her hazelnut eyes shown a distant but harrowing pain.

“And then...when I regained consciousness, I was alone, kneeling in the middle of the same clearing. I was in pain, so much pain...there was blood everywhere. I was mortally wounded, bloodthirsty...and near me, Kaname was already disappearing. He scattered in a mist of crystals...he died in my arms.”

Yuuki stopped talking, for good this time. Again her expressionless eyes got lost in the flames, while her mind probably wandered toward the snippets of memories she had left. Her hand stroked something on her neck, maybe a pendant hidden underneath her dress. Silent, Zero let the anguish and tension in the room go down. Then...

“What about the others? Kain, Aido? Seiren and Ruka?”

Yuuki closed her eyes.

“I don’t know what happened to Seiren. She probably died trying to protect Kaname. As for the others, I’m not sure anymore. I think they were so shocked by what happened that they did not oppose me when I sent them away.”

When Yuuki opened her eyes again, Zero stopped himself from shuddering: the Pureblood’s gaze was as icy as it was deadly.

“No way I would stay with them after this failure...or their possible treason by inaction.”

Zero understood and did not insist. He now knew why a Pureblood, usually surrounded with bodyguards, was traveling alone.

“What do you want from me?” he whispered, staring at the flames.

“I told you. Find the assassin, and kill them.”

“There has to be people far more powerful than I am, and who would gladly help you, a precious Pureblood.”

“This is where you are mistaken.”

Yuuki’s voice became sharp, as sharp as the fangs one could glimpse under her slender lips.

“You know as well as I do that Kaname was one of the most powerful Pureblood in existence. As for me, in the few years since he had awoken my vampire nature, I was almost his equal in power. Yet, this thing dared to attack us, killed him and maimed me...no ordinary vampire could have done this. The mere thought of raising their hands against him would have been unbearable to them.”

Zero narrowed his eyes as he understood what she meant.

“Only a Pureblood could have attacked us”, she carried on. “Without taking into account the fact that they managed to erase my memory. Therefore, the assassin is no ordinary person. To identify or to approach them, I shall need a support I do not have. Kaname was the most powerful Pureblood among us, and this aura commanded respect...but unlike him, I came “out of nowhere”. I have neither the influence nor the experience to represent my family.”

The vampire lady’s mahogany pupils shimmered with powerlessness as they fell on the calm Hunter.

“I don’t like to admit it, but you are my only asset, Zero. My last hope to shed light on this. When he was alive, Kaname saw you as the only creature able to strike him down.”

“Clearly, he was wrong.”

The jibe made Yuuki frown, but she remained dignified.

“Yes, he was wrong because you weren’t the only one. But you could, and still can...you are the direct descendant of some of the most powerful hunters who ever existed, and, furthermore, a vampire who drank Kuran blood from my neck and my brother’s. It makes you a unique creature.”

It was Zero’s turn to be offended, but he preferred to stop this conversation in its tracks before it would turn into an exchange of derogatory remarks.

“It was years ago”, he said softly after a short silence. “The power I displayed at the Academy is no longer my possession.”

Yuuki dispelled this setback with a flick of her head.

“I will take onto myself to give back this power to you.”

He did not answer, in all appearances neutral. Internally, the idea to become once more the overpowered and bloodthirsty creature he had been back then wasn’t very appealing to him.

“I still haven’t told you I would accept”, Zero finally whispered.

She stood up gracefully, her brown hair undulating like a silky mantle in the flickering light.

“Yes, and this is why I’ll give you time to think it over”, Yuuki answered.

She picked up the thick beige coat that laid forgotten underneath a window, put it on. Her hazelnut eyes sparkled when they crossed the hunter’s amethyst.

“I only want you to try to make the good choice. Remember that you are my last chance.”

“And this is probably why you won’t dare raise your hand against me.”

Yuuki narrowed her eyes. Without a word, she turned away and walked into the next chamber from where she had appeared earlier. Intrigued, Zero was about to stand up when a sudden icy draught cooled the room. He immediately ran into the other room, and found a window wide opened onto the night.

Yuuki was gone, as if she vanished in the tempest.

 

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Blizzard kept blowing for the three following days, plunging the small remote city of Klasdic into a perpetual darkness and devastating cold. Shut inside their homes, the locals were used to Mother Nature’s antics, and waited for it to go away, while busying themselves with small works around the fireplace.

During those three days and nights, Zero kept vigil, watchful for any suspicious noise that the storm could have hidden from him, on the look for the first sign, the smallest mystic murmur betraying Yuuki’s return.

Yet the vampiress remained unseen. During the too-short respites from the storm, Zero roamed the city to try and find this shadow of his past who had reappeared so suddenly. But no one had heard from her, no one but Zero had seen her. It was as if she had been nothing but a dream, a silhouette born from the dark of the night, gone with the first sun rays.

All his usual means of communication were cut because of the tempest. Zero was going round in circles. Many times, the hunter had used up his many hours of waiting to remember the interview. Despite everything, he still didn’t know what to think of it. Kaname was dead...but even if that was the truth, what did it have to do with him? As for Yuuki, she was nothing but past memories: she had become a true vampire, while he was still fighting relentlessly against his own blood-drinker nature. They were more different, more enemies than ever.

To collaborate, admitting that Zero would find an interest to it, would anyway be arduous...their past, that they both tried to forget, was now nothing but a bottomless pit, and trying to fill it up was foolish.

After the fourth day of the storm, Yuuki still hadn’t reappeared. His memory now taking definitely the appearance of a senseless dream, Zero decided to leave the city. It was the first time in many months that he stayed in the same place for so long: usually, he only stopped for a day or two in villages and hamlets where his hazardous, mission-filled travels led him. When he could, he would even sleep under the stars, rather than mingling with the rest of humanity. It was one of the few vampire traits he liked: the need for solitude.

Turning his eyes away from the window half-covered with snow, the hunter scanned his surroundings. The manor had taken in several neighbouring families, couples and children living in houses too old or too damaged to protect them from the storm. The common room, where he had sat down for a meal, was filled with noises, music and chatter. Even though the storm was still raging outside, the mood was joyful and relaxed: a local festival was scheduled for the next evening. Emotionless, Zero looked at children running, their arms full of baskets filled with still-hot candies, studied the serene face of the old men sitting by the fire, the affable expression of the fathers playing dice or doing woodwork, the round and absorbed face of the mothers busy with their cooking or decorating.

Zero thanked again the waitress coming to ask him if he needed anything. He watched her walking away out of the corner of his eye. His amethyst pupils lingered on her curvy and appealing silhouette, her pale Northern-girl skin. Ever since _she_ had come the other night, he had felt no desire for blood. The vampire in him – that he still set firmly apart from his hunter nature – was keeping quiet, calm...almost indifferent to all this surrounding life, this radiant human health swirling around him. It was disconcerting.

When the waitress moved away to let through a child in a hurry, she caught the hunter’s pensive gaze. Surprised at first, she gave him a gorgeous smile, while a dashing red coloured her cheekbones. Zero averted his eyes, a shudder running through his spine.

Yes, it was time to go. He was becoming too well-known around here, and if he tried to feed before disappearing, it would raise numerous suspicions. He had to reach the next town – or village, hamlet or farm, it didn’t matter much as long as there was life – to satiate his vampire desire which would, sooner or later, awaken violently after such a delay.

He silently sighed. Even after all these years, he never did this with a light heart.

He stood up, walked to the counter and explained to the innkeeper and landlord of the place that he intended to leave the inn today. Disconcerted, the man alluded to the storm still raging outside, but Zero’s scowl made clear that this didn’t matter to him. The man yielded, and the waitress, who stood nearby and had overheard the conversation, told Zero she was going to fetch his freshly ironed clothes right away. The hunter thanked her with a nod and asked her to bring them directly to his room.

With relief, Zero left the joy-filled room. Deep in thoughts, he wandered through the corridors, taking in their dark and cool atmosphere. The electricity was cut off ever since the beginning of the storm, but it was a common occurrence around here, if the numerous candles, portable stoves and chimneys were to be taken into account. On the other hand, since few people stayed in their room during the day, neither them nor the corridors were heated. Barely hindered by the darkness, Zero walked steadily to his door.

He didn’t need to touch the doorknob, or even to graze the door to know that something had changed. Alert, imperturbable, he pushed the unlocked door open.

With a frenzy he barely contained or understood, his eyes looked for her, found her.

She was sitting on the windowsill, the very window who recently shed a milky moonlight on her and which once again gave her a halo barely more visible in this late cloudy morning. Her long brown hair, untangled, straightened, sumptuous and silky, undulated down her straight back. Her clothes were different, but still gave the same feeling of eternity: a long black dress, slit on a side up to her hip, and revealing her neck as well as the soft ivory spheres of her shoulders. A pendant, jet black against her crystalline neck, disappeared, mysterious, between her concealed breasts, still more attractive and feminine as ever.

She turned when she heard him enter: the amethyst pupils crossed the mahogany ones, suddenly shimmering. Her slender hand dived into the satin folds, against her bared thigh, simply covered with black stocking. There was a metallic clinking sound.

Zero dodged on the left. But too late.

The shot slashed the silence with a shrieking hiss. Red splattered the wall behind Zero. Thrown against the wall, he put his hand to his chest, wide-eyed.

Torn between the most total confusion and a red anger, he glared at the vampire. Sitting on the windowsill, she hadn’t flinched. Only her arm had moved, lifting the small but thick revolver as though it was as light as a feather. The barrel was still shining with an evocative purple light.

That same merciless light circling a shining rune in the gaping hole in Zero’s thoracic cage. He clenched his teeth, under a crippling pain he had not felt in what seemed like centuries.

Enchanted silver bullets, the ultimate vampire weapon…!

Panting, Zero stammered with pain and leapt on his feet; his bloodstained hand reached for the Bloody Rose in his shoulder holster.

“What are you…!”

A second shot, then a third, threw him against the wall again. Neither Yuuki’s arm nor her gaze shivered or blinked. With horror, Zero felt what he had thought to be ultimate pain worsen, reaching unthinkable suffering. When silence fell again, he coughed and tasted, feverish, the metallic and sweet taste on his tongue. Blood was pouring from his wounds, on his hands, his lips. His throat was quivering, panting, desperate.

And, in a strange mixture of stupor, relief and panic, while his formidable regenerating abilities were trying to close his wounds, he felt his thirst awaken.

“ **Aaaaaah!?”**

The hunter’s dulled gaze left the vampiress who had so coldly executed him, and saw the one who just entered. The young waitress.

A basket full of clean clothes had fallen at her feet, her hands were clenched on her mouth, open on a terrorised moan. Her blue eyes were filled with fear and horror, shedding powerless tears. She was shaking like a leaf, shuddering with all her poor human soul, devastated by a vision of murder, of a dying body.

The human he was saw this implacable terror devouring her. But the vampire screamed at the sight of this tempting flesh, this pulsating throat waiting for his hungry fangs. Despite of himself, his muscles tensed, ready to pounce. He was going to bite, bite to survive, bite to kill…!

But a silhouette came between them, and the human girl disappeared from his blurred sight. The weapon sang again, nailing him to place twice. Slowly he slid to the floor, staining the wall with another merciless, bloody trail. As the spell and the pain paralysed him, Zero understood that he was going to die.

To die. Just like that.

Unconsciously, his blood-soaked hands fell, limp, on the floor. His panting breath slowed...

Distraught, he looked at the vampire looming over him. As quick as lightning, she had put herself between her companion and the terrorised waitress. Without hesitation, she had shot at point range.

Ignoring the blood soaking her black velvet dress, she paid no heed to the vampire, and turned to the young maid. Shaking, her teeth clenched as if to silence her frantic sobs – in vain –, the young girl was barely holding up. With a moan, she looked into the impassible eyes of the vampire lady, and became prisoner of them.

Yuuki’s lips moved in a whisper.

“You didn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything.”

By some miracle, the sob-filled voice of the girl managed to escape her clenched lips.

“I...didn’t see anything, my Lady. Didn’t hear anything.”

“May your soul be cleansed from this memory, may your mind be free of this image which has little to do with your world.”

Yuuki was whispering, as if to a child, or to an unruly horse reassured by a slow and low voice. With her free hand, she stroked the maid’s blonde hair. At the same time, when her fingers brushed her temple, they shone with a small glimmer. A veil fell upon the girl’s frightened eyes.

“You may go. I’ll take care of everything. If someone asks about the noise, say it was a shutter slamming because of the wind.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

The vampire’s hand fell, limp. Yuuki’s inflexible eyes studied the waitress, who kept her head down. Mechanically, almost sleepily, the young woman bowed and left the room.

Yuuki pushed aside the basket and the laundry with her feet, and gently closed the door. Slowly, her gaze slid on the wall, stopped on Zero. His breath was short and wheezing, his eyelids heavy. This was why he did not see her arm raise again, her slender finger on the trigger.

He only heard the gunshot. The throbbing pain worsened, but it seemed already far away. His heart was beating erratically. His breath was shortening. A bottomless pit welcomed his consciousness, free from any earthly bonds.

“Zero. Don’t die.”

This whisper was a thunderclap. The chain holding his conscience back, that he thought broken, strengthened brutally.

He flinched against the wall, eyes wide open, distraught, panting. Silky serpents grazed his cheek, seductive in their touch and their perfume. Through a hazy mist, he made out a long-haired woman standing up, stepping back. She had whispered in his ear, and the mere sound of her voice had pulled him from his imminent death.

Like a wounded animal who thought itself already doomed, he watched with terror the one responsible for his suffering. What was she going to do now?

She kept stepping back, but the sound of her feet was only a brushing echo to him, just like the light coming from behind her was nothing but a pale and faded halo.

Exhausted, his head bobbing down, his senses blurred by pain and blood, he was about to fall back into unconsciousness when she put a sharpened fingernail to her neck. A surreal grating, maybe a hallucination, gave him a shock.

“Zero...”

He did not hear her voice, soft and tempting, bewitching to any man. Captivated, he only saw, only heard the red fluid flowing on her marble skin. He felt like the crimson flow was whispering, singing. The blood was calling out to him.

She sat across the bed. Nostrils flaring, he watched her gently brush the cut now defacing her queenly neck, and extend her hand.

“Come...”

He was at her feet before she finished the word. Brutally, he grabbed her offered hand, hastily licked the pearl of blood. He had not even begun to savour the incredible nectar that he already craved its source.

Growling like a starving beast, he pounced on the slender silhouette, and she had not yet touched the mattress that he had already sunk his fangs into her alabaster neck.

Explosion of flavours, rapture of the senses. Against his tensed lips, upon his dry tongue, blood was an elixir of life, a manna from above. Relentlessly, he withdrew his fangs from the flesh, before pressing immediately his thirsty mouth against the wound without loosing a drop. He sucked so hard the godsend essence that he thought he would faint, blown away by a hurricane of divine and bewitching perceptions. It was like seeing the Northern Lights after a life of blindness, like fresh water under a scorching sun. Like an ember warming a long winter night, like the breath saving from drowning.

An imperious, vital need, fulfilled at last a hundred times over. To have lived without it for all his life was beyond belief. To renounce this bliss, for just one second, was pure insanity.

“You have to understand...you have to see, too...”

He gulped down another sip of paradise, hell-bent on making the most of this otherworldly pleasure. In another dimension, another time, he felt her struggling against him weakly. She whispered words in his ear, words he did not listen. She arched her back under his chest, stiffened under his savage and imperious embrace. He only enjoyed it more, stealing with each mouthful another parcel of her vitality.

The past was no more, the future was nothing. There was only the present, both sweet and strong, soft and stormy, on his ever-parched tongue.

The blood of a Pureblood...

“...what I lived!”

And then bliss became terror.

And then sweetness turned to acid, warmth became a knife.

Under his lips, the furious torrent turned to ice, unstoppable, and widened, engulfing him. Light faded to dusk as the wind howled, vicious and cold.

Snow. Blood everywhere.

A voice rose. Hoarse, shaky. Full of rage. Of desperation.

In his blood-soaked hands, he was holding a maimed body who, he knew it, just drew his last breath. The flesh was stiffening. It was already becoming to glimmer, to scatter in a multitude of iridescent crystals.

“ _ **Aaaaaah… Aha… AH! AAAAAH!”**_

There was still screaming. He was in pain, so much pain. It was driving him insane. Exhaustion took hold of him, the tears on his cheeks were burning. In a pang of panic, a flash of conscience, he put one of his – strangely small – hands to his painfully throbbing stomach. Under the torn fabric of his clothes, he could see the slashed flesh. The snow under his knees was already half-melted, stained with a telling scarlet.

The scream stopped. He choked on his own cries, swept in a hallucinated gaze the clearing, cold and indifferent to his dismay. Wind blew long brown bangs on his tear, blood-filled face.

Someone screamed again.

“ _ **No!...NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”**_

Or rather he screamed. For this desperate yell was coming from his throat, this deafening howl was coming from his womanly chest.

“ _ **Kaname! Kaname!”**_

In his arms, the body was becoming lighter. His wide eyes fell upon the face still tensed in pain, slightly shining before disappearing in a mist of shimmering crystals. His hands ran on the maimed body, trying vainly to awake him, to hold him back. But there was nothing to do: already cold, he was disappearing under his fingers.

“ _ **Come back to me, Kaname! Don’t go! NOT YOU!”**_

Through his tears, he saw his hand close on a bigger crystal. Without thinking, he silently whispered a spell. He was still screaming, sobbing.

“ _ **Don’t leave me alone!...Kaname! KANAME!”**_

And the body burst into iridescent pieces.

The clearing disappeared, replaced by the room.

He exhaled. Briefly, strongly. As if to chase away the horrible vision, as if to blow the flame of a candle.

The blood on his lips was already drying. He didn’t think about savouring it anymore. On his tongue, the nectar tasted like carrion.

Speechless, he set his eyes on the panting chest unwillingly offered to his view. With a shaking finger, he drew on the velvet bond of the necklace hiding underneath her breasts. From between the two ivory spheres, an amber pendant appeared.

In its centre, trapped forever, was a small iridescent crystal.

“...No…!”

He instinctively leaped back. His back hit the wall, and, horrified, he barely noticed that his own wounds were already healed. Unconsciously, he wiped his lips clean, his fangs still showing underneath. His amethyst eyes locked on the feminine form slowly sitting back on the crumpled bed.

Under the long brown hair, the trace of his previous savage act was slowly fading. Only a bloody trail remained, running down to her chest. Panting, Zero finally thought about breathing again, and came back to his senses.

To see. When a vampire drank the blood of a living thing, they could perceive their deepest desires, their darkest secrets. He had already experienced it, years ago, when in an inexplicable paradox, Yuuki had freely offered him her blood. He had then seen the still-blossoming but unbreakable love bonding her to Kaname. Yes, what a cruel experience it had been back then...

But it was nothing compared to what he just _lived_.

“Yuuki...”

He whispered her name, but could do no more. The lump in his throat did not allow him to speak yet. He felt tears in his eyes. Tears that were not really his.

Because it was out of pure mimicry that he felt this sorrow. An uncontrollable empathy for the one who, without warning, had given him the most atrocious of her memories, her most poignant feeling, through the gift of her blood.

Zero frowned, forced himself to think straight. No, she had not given him anything...she had forced him to accept. He would never have bitten her otherwise.

He who had sworn to never take more than necessary...he just drank with abandon. Worse yet, he had enjoyed it! And not just any blood...A Pureblood’s.

 _Yuuki’s_ blood!

His face in his hands, he felt with horror the fluid staining his lips, striking him with the horrible truth. She had forced him...by deliberately annihilating his conscience, reducing him to a single instinct...

“How...How could you? And why?” he growled, his voice still shaking despite his efforts.

He glared at her with his still red-tainted amethyst pupils. Unmoving, the vampiress kept her eyes down. Silently, she grabbed her pendant. The hunter shuddered with disgust. A vampire keeping such a crystal was like a human keeping a piece of rotting flesh...the crystal, set in a piece of golden amber, was beautiful. But to the eyes of a knowing vampire, it was repulsive.

Finally, Yuuki looked up. And while her previous gesture was filled with sadness and abandon, the deadly gleam in her eyes betrayed her determination.

“You never would have followed me, Zero. I had to do something.”

Zero flinched, as if lighting suddenly stroke in the room. His heart started to pound again. Cold sweat drenched his already blood-stained shirt. He swallowed hard, unable to believe it.

_This feeling..._

Her face neutral once more, Yuuki tilted her head, her unreadable gaze fixed on Zero. She rose, her velvet dress falling in soft volutes on her silhouette.

“You have always been a peculiar creature, Zero. When centuries-old vampires felt the need to bow before Kaname, you didn’t care about this liegeman instinct. And since your master, Shizuka Hiou, hardly submitted you to her hold, you started your vampire existence remarkably free. Your mental strength slowed your Level E decay for years, when in your condition, the process only takes a few months. And let’s not forget that a different blood than your “creator’s” stopped your descent into madness for a time. Kuran blood, given to you freely...mine, and my brother’s. He told me he granted it you one day at the Academy to delay your fall to Level E.”

While she was talking, she put her pendant back to its place, under her dress. Briefly, her hand stayed on her chest, as if to draw strength. She closed her eyes.

“Ever since Shizuka, your creator, is dead, the place of your Lord, “the one ruling you”, is vacant. Today, I gave it a new owner. This is impossible in theory, but Shizuka merely transformed you, without marking you any further...”

Zero tried to control his breath, to slow his heart’s frenetic pounding. He wanted to make a step, grab the Bloody Rose nearby...all in vain. His body refused to obey him.

“...and this is without taking into account the fact that I am infinitely more powerful, today, than Shizuka ever was.”

With horror, Zero felt again the insidious force, the same psychic straitjacket he experienced the only time Shizuka subdued him with one single word. Him, the creature born from her fangs. If, in the Night World, a bond could counterbalance the one submitting a vampire to a Pureblood, it was probably the instinct linking a vampire to their creator.

Like the bond between a child and his parents, to break such a thing was beyond imagination, unprecedented in History. It could not be changed. It was impossible...yet, with every second, the truth was becoming harsher and harsher. Slyly, like the deadly coils of a snake, it possessed his whole body, trapping his entire being.

This instinct of submission that Shizuka only tickled once in her life, Yuuki had just awoken it, sealing it with her own blood.

Zero was paralysed, his eyes wide open. Yuuki’s voice. Now, when he heard it, he could no longer disobey her.

“You b-”

“Actually, the blood bond we share will not be as secure as the one you had with Shizuka”, Yuuki conceded in a cold voice, ignoring his insult. “But this will do.”

The vampiress turned away. Free from her inquisitive gaze, Zero immediately felt more serene, and clenched his fist, powerless.

“You Purebloods are always so arrogant...”

“Has living away from our society made you forget? We _are_ superior, Zero. We can do things others could not even imagine.”

With a growl, he watched her put on her beige coat, previously thrown on a chair.

“I refuse to be once again a pawn on a Kuran’s chessboard.”

In another of her lightning-fast movements, Yuuki was again near him. Her eyes shimmered when she looked into Zero’s furious amethysts.

“You don’t seem to understand, Zero. You shall obey me, because you haven’t got a choice.”

He glared back at her. If looks could kill other than figuratively, the vampiress herself would have had some difficulty to recover.

“We will see”, he hissed.

Yuuki’s hand then brushed his cheek, almost a caress. Zero shuddered, tried to move, to violently chase away this intrusion. He merely managed to stiffen. A pitiful defence. Furious, he struggled for a few interminable seconds, to try to only turn away, while she stroked his grey hair, trailed her nails over his exposed throat. His muscles felt like they did not belong to him anymore.

He had to face the fact that he was not strong enough. His hands were tied. It was terrifying, revolting. Humiliating.

Yuuki’s inquisitive gaze did not turn away from his. Incredulity, anger, despair, resentment...she missed nothing of this storm of emotions in her new liegeman’s eyes. Pensive, she lowered her hand.

“You were about to die, and in order to survive, you drank my blood. Now, you are indebted to me.”

“A debt for something you forced me to do”, he growled.

“It was necessary.”

“No. Nothing will ever justify what you did to me today. Never.”

Zero’s voice was shaking with resentment and barely-contained fury, but Yuuki did not flinch. Regal-looking in her jet-black dress, she was radiating a determination he rarely saw in her before. A fortitude akin to a steel grip. A will which allowed her to shoot him in cold blood. But was it so surprising, coming from a vampire, a Kuran moreover?

Was it so difficult to imagine...coming from her? She who stood alongside Kaname for five years?

The hunter’s shaking fist finally relaxed, his knuckles white. He closed his eyes painfully: he was not strong enough. For now, only for now, he gave up.

“Kaname corrupted you well...”

To his surprise, Yuuki blinked. She spun around, and Zero felt, with hateful pleasure, the delicious perfume of her skin brush past him.

She walked right to the window, opened it wide. Merciless, the tempest burst into the room, ravaging it with its icy volutes. Free to move at last, Zero raised his arm over his face, to shield himself from the biting cold and the snowflakes coiling on his skin.

“We will meet at the Eastern city door. In two hours, without fail.”

She backed her order with an imperious stare, then climbed on the windowsill with surprising agility. Just when she was about to throw herself into the storm, she hesitated.

“You’re wrong, Zero...”

With narrowed eyes, he could not see her face. He only saw the vampire’s back, her coat flapping in the wind. Her brown hairs curled, soft and endless, through the whirlwind.

“It’s not Kaname...but his murderer who made me what I am today.”

_Blood on the snow. Excruciating pain. A deafening shriek._

“ _ **KANAMEEEEEEEE!”**_

When Zero emerged, panting, from the memory she had carved in him, Yuuki had disappeared into the blizzard.

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At the bottom of the page, Yori drew the final arabesque, before finally closing her eyes and letting out a sigh. The storm, the room, the blood-stained wall, everything disappeared. A deep silence shrouded her. When she opened her eyelids, she was sitting on the floor in a corner of her book-filled refuge, her writing case on her lap.

Frozen, as she always was after her long writing hours, she bundled up in the cover she thankfully remembered to bring. Deep in thoughts, she looked critically at her notes. In a slightly raspy voice, she whispered:

“To shoot on Zero...was it really the only solution?”

Yori shuddered, already regretting her own question. In a split second, torrent of memories seemed to answer her, too fast to be understood, but powerful in their emotions.

Solitude. Sorrow. Hate. Despair. Again and again...somewhere in the depths of her memory, a young brown-haired woman turned away, a tear on her cheek. Another man looked at her resentfully, with clenched fists.

Yori closed her eyes, still feeling the recoil of the gun in her hand, the deafening shots. The harrowing will to hurt, to wound, to maim.

The burning bullets in his flesh. The taste of blood on his fangs, the frustration and horror of being dispossessed from his own body...

She sighed, her eyes wet, and in a last effort shut herself from those scattered memories, both contradictory and complementary, like two sides of a coin.

“...Why was it always so complicated between you two?”

This time, Yori did not get any clear answer. Exhausted, she fell into a deep slumber, exceptionally devoid of dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Three: Painfully

 

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Sitting at her desk, her arms crossed on her chest, she was staring at her laptop screen. A deep silence surrounded her, allowing her to think. And yet...

And yet, the cursor was blinking tirelessly, stuck at the top of the white page like it had been for the past half hour. Fruitless. Yori bit her lips, while her finger fidgeted with the fabric of her shirt. Finally she leaned forward, her hands hovered above the pad, drew a long breath...

And crossed her arms again and sighed defeatedly. She leaned on the desk and massaged her temples. It was useless to linger on her new novel. It had been nagging at her for several months. Inspiration would come eventually...

She saw a pencil on her desk, made it roll pensively before grabbing it and starting to scribble on a lone piece of paper, letting her mind wander.

Nevermind the deadline, still distant but coming inexorably. Nevermind her publisher’s encouraging emails, her promise of a new manuscript – or at least a first draft – before the end of the year. And nevermind the derogatory remarks of several of her family members – including her father, who still had not gotten over her career choice and never missed an opportunity to remind her of it when she had writer’s block. Yori tried to ignore it, because she was doing something she loved. Those past ten years she even had made a name for herself in the small world of edition, and her writings were usually well-received in some reader circles. But…

...But she was onto something else. At least for now.

“ _Yori-chan?”_

Her heart missed a beat, and she looked up from her paper, eyes wide open. The amphitheatre was wide, brightened by the huge windows on her left. In a religious silence, students in black uniform were listening to the professor describing mathematics formulas, his chalk squeaking against the board. The breeze coming in from an opened window was bringing in the smell of spring, mixing with the scent of varnished wood and brand-new paper.

She was back in their classroom, in the Academy.

“ _You’re writing during class? That’s not like you!”_

She shivered when she heard this mischievous, familiar whisper. Turning her head on her right, she saw the young brown-haired girl in her black uniform, her earnest eyes, her kind and curious smile. She chuckled, her hazelnut pupils gleaming, before raising her chin to try and see what she was doing.

“ _Ah, that’s not it! What are you drawing?”_

Yori had a surprised sigh.

“Yuuki...!”

She blinked, and she was back before her computer, going into sleep mode in a purr. She was still in this small library, her “sanctuary”, her refuge as a lone writer and artist. Unmoving, she remembered to breathe, her heart pounding in her chest.

A memory. Another one. Trivial but powerful, and truly hers this time...

“ _What are you drawing?”_

The echo of the familiar voice was still ringing in her ear, discreet but eager. She looked down, and, because she thought she would see the teenager in uniform, stared at the sketch with stupefaction.

It was her. Yuuki. But as a Pureblood, older, more regal-looking. She was turning her back to her. Her long brown hair were cascading on her womanly shoulders, lost in the coils of a travel coat. Standing at the top of what was probably a tilled roof, her face was unseen. She seemed lost in the horizon, gazing upon an unknown city.

Yori put her pencil down, her heart suddenly filled with a gripping and strange feeling. Loneliness. She put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, her lips pursed. She tried half-heartedly to empty her mind. But the Yuuki on her sketch stubbornly remained before her closed eyes, and whispered in her ear in a haughty, yet sorrow-laced voice.

“ _Zero.”_

Yori stood up suddenly, closed her computer and put it in her bag. Then she looked at her pens, her notebooks, the white pages begging to be covered in her small, pressed-up writing. But once again, nothing inspired her.

She looked at the shelf above her, reached out and brushed carefully the thick volumes she stacked there years ago. With a sigh, she chose one, opened it and browsed the pages with attention. The story was here, written years ago during one of her first tries.

Despite their new blood bond, despite the order he had received, Zero had ran away, stubbornly. Because she had nothing to lose, Yuuki had followed him in his hazardous escape...

Yori sat at her desk and, her chin in her hand, began to read. Along the words and sentences, the memory burst from her unconscious, as clear as the first time. Letters disappeared under a flow of colours, sounds, flavours, textures and smells: like a wave, they engulfed her senses.

An icy winter night. The dark streets of a town without a name. A woman running for her life...

 

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**Bloody Cross Chronicles**

**Painfully**

 

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_Disregarding my will_

_You sent me to Death_

_Without any ambiguity_

_You stole my body from me_

 

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_A want you created_

_A desire you satisfied_

_Imposing me the essence of your being_

_Creating a link that should not have been..._

_._

_Did you even know what you were doing?_

 

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Echoes of heels on the pavement. A panting breath, small high-pitched sounds. Moans of panic.

“Please...please, help me...somebody...”

She had given up yelling a few minutes ago. At first because her voice, numbed by the cold air, was now nothing but a hoarse and pitiful complain. Then, because despite her screaming at the top of her lungs when she had started to run, no light appeared at the windows, no shutter opened on a worried face eager to help someone in danger.

“Please…!”

Her mind trapped in panic, chained by terror, she whispered a string of pleas. She dared a peek behind her shoulder: at the end of the darkened back-alley, she saw nothing.

But she knew he was here. She could feel his presence.

Forgetting the uneven ground she was wandering on, she slipped on the wet pavement. Stumbling, she managed to find her balance back and started to run again. Her nostrils flared by fear, tears in her eyes, she ran as if the devil himself was chasing her.

And, come to think of it, it might just be true.

“Please, Holy Mother...Have mercy on me!”

Sobbing, she crossed herself, still running. Because of the icy air, her lungs were burning horribly. As for her heart, it seemed to have become a frightened bird, pounding against its cage while trying to escape. Its cries, and the frantic beats against the bars holding it prisoner, echoed in the young woman’s ringing ears.

But why, why hadn’t she gone home earlier? In the dying twilight, it had seemed so easy to walk home from this dinner at her sister’s house! But _he_ had appeared when she was walking alone, in those tortuous, deserted back-alleys. The poor maid she was panicked, tried to lose him. For how long? She did not know...

It was now pitch black, and she was the one who was lost.

Panting, she looked up with teary but hopeful eyes towards a building were a light was still shining, forced her voice to call out for help once more. Her hopes were quickly crushed when suddenly, as if in a rush, the light went out.

Alone, she was alone! Who would worry about a maid going missing tonight? And if by chance her body was found tomorrow, they would only talk about the disgusting crime, not about her. Her name, her very existence, would fall into oblivion.

This very morning, with her companions, along the corridors, she was gossiping about “these things”. Remembering her fear laced with excitement while they talked about those stories made her gag. Out of breath, she thought about stopping, but a quiver within her made her look up again. With renewed strength, she ran through the deserted alleys wet with sleet, her blue coat wrapped around her.

She couldn’t give up, she mustn’t stop! Because otherwise, two persons would die tonight...

“Holy Mother, give me strength...I’m begging you!”

She almost fainted in terror when she heard a familiar growl far above her: he was chasing her through the roofs!

Her throat was burning, long black curls escaped from her bun, when she suddenly saw a glimmer in an adjacent street. Without thinking, she ran toward it. The warm, yellow glow was reminding her of gaslights. A vehicle roared in the distance.

The city centre! She was reaching more busy blocks!

“Holy Mother, thank you! Oh, thank you...”

She felt a warm breath on her neck, and her smile vanished, her gratitude stuck in her throat. An iron hand grabbed her elbow, with such strength that she almost dislocated her shoulder. She screamed, her lungs giving by miracle a sliver of air and energy. A treasure born out of survival instinct.

“ **LET ME GO!”**

The echo of her scream was still ringing in the icy air when, losing her balance, she fell on the wet and cold pavement. Filled with fear, on edge, she was about to fight nail and teeth. But when she looked up to what she thought was the eyes of her assailant, she saw nothing.

She was alone in the back alley. And yet, the grip crushing her arm had not been an illusion: judging by the deep pain beating in her flesh, she would have quite the bruise...

But this was the least of her worries. Baffled, the young woman got up as quickly as she could. Even if she couldn’t see him, she still felt his presence. Why was he toying with her like this?

Instinctively, she turned back to the street lights and saw a silhouette blocking her path. For one split second, her heart stood still. Trapped, she was trapped!

Then she studied more carefully the unmoving silhouette in the middle of the street. She sighed with relief when she understood that it was a woman who, if her frozen shape was to be believed, was looking at her with bewilderment.

She ran to the stranger, noting her regal look and transcending beauty. She was a noblewoman; the maid, who walked past them everyday in her master’s house, saw it immediately. Without hesitation, she went to her: she probably had a vehicle, a suite, bodyguards. Put it simply, people who would know how to fight, and who would probably agree to defend her!

“My Lady, of my Lady! I’m begging you, help me!” cried the maid, nervous tears running down her pallid cheeks. “The killer! The killer is here, he’s chasing me! Protect me, my Lady!”

She saw the woman step forward a bit, while her brown eyes filled with pained surprise...

Then a shadow fell behind the stranger. The maid’s eyes widened with horror.

“Watch out…!”

But the man had already taken hold of the stranger, so frail and vulnerable between his powerful arms. A hand grabbed her neck roughly and held it while another greedily chased away her long dark hair and pulled on the coat collar, baring her shoulder under the street’s glaring lights. A hurried groan, then two white blades shone in the killer’s shadowed face, before sinking into the bared flesh, at the base of her fragile neck.

The maid screamed in terror, her head in her hands. Where the man had struck – or rather bitten, she realized with horror and incomprehension – blood was flowing freely.

This was when she suddenly noticed a disturbing detail: the stranger wasn’t struggling.

Yet according to the white knuckles of the hand gripping her neck, she should have suffocated. Blood was staining her coat and her black blouse underneath. Yet, she didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Her head tilted on the side, as if to offer a better grip to her torturer, her eyes were closed, indifferent to the steely grip of his arms.

“Are you finally done acting like a child?”

Her voice, both soft and sharp, wasn’t shaking. She opened her eyes and looked at her aggressor, whose only answer was a unique and discreet gulping sound. Seeing his lips still sealed on his victim’s neck, letting in this instant escape a bit of blood, the young woman knew very well what he just swallowed so voraciously. She felt nauseous, and yet she couldn’t keep her eyes of the scene, aghast.

Without warning, as if caught red-handed, the aggressor pulled away from his victim’s wounded flesh. His tongue brushed, almost guiltily, the still-flowing blood. His mouth, wide open, could bite again at any moment or move away; he growled.

At last he straightened up, wiping his mouth hastily. His lips barely hid his long, bloodstained alabaster fangs. His victim was still looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Strangely, it was the aggressor who looked exhausted...

Captivated by the incredible exchange, feeling the exceptional tension both bonding and dividing the two strangers, the maid’s fear was almost forgotten. But it reminded itself to her brutally when she noticed a crucial detail, as the victim threw her head back to look at her persecutor in the eyes.

Their irises. Both were red-tinted. If the woman’s only shone with a discrete carmine, her companion’s were gleaming, crimson.

With rage, disgust. But also with want. Animal desire.

The woman whispered something, so low that the maid, simple witness both fascinated and repulsed, only heard a few words.

“I’m the only one who...”

His ruby eyes widened. Angrily, he pushed her away and ran into the darkness of a nearby back-alley. The soft sound of his steps only lingered for several seconds, and a deafening silence fell again.

Frozen with shock, the maid stared at the street he disappeared into for a long time. She didn’t notice when, damaged by the run and her fall, the pin holding her bun fell away, letting fall her dark curly hair on her shoulders. Unconsciously, this feeling perked her up. Still in shock, she looked at the remaining stranger...

And couldn’t help but shudder at the sight of her blood-coloured eyes. She didn’t think she was wrong in thinking they were becoming redder and redder with each passing second. The stranger parted her lips, revealing two slender canines, impressive by their delicacy and their sharpness. With a slightly trembling hand, the young woman felt her neck, stained with coagulated blood. Her injury, to the maid’s stupefaction, was already healed, but the stranger seemed to suffer from something else. Her eyes gazing into the void, she was shaking and breathing hard.

Short-winded, her heart still beating madly in her chest, the maid followed the stranger’s terribly still stare. And noticed that, in her fall, she had deeply scratched her arm. The sleeve of her black woollen dress was stained with blood.

Her breath stopped in her throat as she stepped back. All the anguish, the terror she should have felt before the couple and that she strangely forgot seized her back into their icy grasp.

The danger did not went away, she understood, distraught, while the lady walked slowly towards her. It just took a different face.

“N...No!”

She stepped back until she was back against a wall. She could have run, she should have run, since she had a feeling – stupid and baseless – that this woman would not chase her. But her wobbly legs did not obey her anymore, and her muscles, like her lungs, were burning her beyond belief.

Slowly, at the end of her tether, she let herself slid to the ground in a rustling of dresses. The stranger approached. The clicking of her boots on the wet pavements was tolling the bell, the end of a senseless, hopeless run.

Like a prey mesmerized by its predator, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the feminine form walking toward her. This woman was so beautiful, so dangerous, but so bewitching...would dying at her hands be as painful than at her companion’s? The young maid wasn’t even surprised of such thoughts. She was crying silently, her blue eyes locked in the ruby pupils.

Yet, with a strength born from despair, barely conscious, she softly beseeched:

“I beg you...spare my life...for the child I’m bearing!”

To her own surprise, the woman stopped. She stood still, like Death itself awaiting. Then her eye colour turned back slowly to a simple mahogany, barely lighter than her hair. She approached again, and the maid shuddered when she knelt down, disregarding her beautiful coat already stained with blood.

“You’re pregnant?” the stranger whispered.

Curled up on herself, the maid was struggling to keep her eyes off the young noblewoman’s canines: unlike her eyes and her breath, they were still far from human-looking. Slowly, soundlessly, she nodded.

“Three months...maybe even four”, she added, frightful, while a pensive gave fell on her belly, still hidden by her ill-fitted maid dress.

“Does he know?”

The young woman stared, nonplussed. Who was this stranger who, a few seconds ago, was about to kill her mercilessly, and was now worried about her relationship?

“No”, she answered still, hesitant to anger the stranger. “I...I’m afraid to tell him. It was unplanned.”

“Let him know.”

The maid was dumbfounded. The other had answered with such haste that it was disconcerting.

“But...his reaction? And what if he...”

The stranger cut her off with an impatient gesture, and she moaned, fearing she ran out of the stranger’s patience, and, even more, just woke up her deadly instinct.

“No idea. But if you want to keep this child, tell him. Grant him this happiness.”

The stranger was so close that the maid could make out every one of her splendid eyelashes. From her alabaster skin, so soft-looking, to her silky dark hair, she was near perfection, even though her youth let a feeling of incompletion.

As if her beauty was but a vague idea of what she would look like later...much later.

Ignoring her loose thoughts, the stranger went to stroke her temple, making her “prey” shudder again.

“You’re brave”, she added, as if it could answer the young mother’s questions. “Everything will be alright.”

The stranger’s delicate fingers shone, but the maid did not see it. She battered her eyelashes and slumped slowly, unconscious. The stranger stared at her again for a while, then, as if her body was as light as a feather, took her in her slender arms.

Holding her burden against her, the stranger looked one last time in the direction taken by her companion. Everything was silent. She sighed, and her cold features were livened suddenly by a slight sorrow, laced with bitterness.

“You will come back to me, Zero...it’s the only way.”

 

.

 

.

 

xxxxxxx

 

.

.

 

“The Kuran son is dead?”

The gloved hand holding the cigarette stood still, halfway between the table and the smoker’s lips. The man’s sceptical blue eye fell onto the person he was talking to.

“That’s what she told me”, Zero whispered. “And the crystal she wore as a necklace was indeed from a Pureblood’s remains.”

“Fuck...”

The cigarette returned between the smoker’s lips. He took a drag, deep in thoughts. Under his thick and still incredibly unruly jet-black hair, his only visible eyebrow frowned in concern.

“So this wasn’t just a rumour...”

The young man sitting nearby jerked his head up.. His amethyst eyes glared at the smoker.

“You knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a rumour, I tell you. I hear dozens of gossips like this every day. By the way, even if this intel had been reliable, how on Earth could I have told you? Only your informants can contact you, and this was too grave a matter to pass through them. It’s been years since I stopped trying to locate you in your runabouts. I just wait for you to show up, it’s easier that way.”

He breathed out, exasperated. The smoke coiled like a long, lazy snake in the cold light of morning

“About this, Zero, I must admit, your training’s perfect. You’re more slippery than an eel...She must have been pretty dead set on finding you, for that matter. Even for a Pureblood, that mustn't be easy.”

 

Zero looked away with a disgusted groan. Sitting at the table of his room in the inn, his cigarette between his lips, Toga Yagari looked at his former student out of the corner of his eye. Back against the wall, sitting on the floor as if he didn’t want to be seen from the outside, he looked exhausted.

On the other hand, his eyes, of a rare violet hue, were shimmering with helpless anger. And his former master now knew why: in a few words, he had explained the story in broad strokes.

“About what she did to you...I can’t help you. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

Zero closed his eyes and swallowed with obvious difficulty.

“Shit...”

“I suppose you don’t want the Association to know?”

“What could they do about it, anyway? They’re already way over their heads.”

Yagari frowned even more. Zero’s voice was quite raspy today...

“You want my advice?” he carried on, watchful. “Follow her.”

Zero shuddered, something Yagari’s hawk-like eye did not miss. He took another drag.

“His death cannot be underestimated. It takes more than one Pureblood to bring down a rock like Kaname Kuran. I can’t investigate freely in the vampire society, especially now, but Yuuki is one of them. And now that you’re bonded to her, their world is no longer closed to you, despite you being a hunter.”

“Never.”

Zero’s eyes radiated with rage under his unruly bangs. Some of them, damp, were curling on his forehead...because of the fever, his former master realized. Even though it was bitterly cold outside and barely warmer in the room, Zero was sweating relentlessly.

This detail, along with his short ragged breath, strengthened Yagari’s worries. Suspicious, he stubbed out his cigarette in the already-full ashtray.

“She’s one of them now, like you said”, whispered Zero. “For her, I’m nothing but a pawn. I won’t let myself be manipulated by a Kuran’s madness. Not again.”

These words made him shiver, and he turned his gaze away. Yagari stood straight in his chair, a sudden suspicion dawning on his mind.

“Zero, what’s going on? You look completely exhausted. Is it the thirst? I thought you accepted your fate a long time ago.”

Zero stiffened immediately. He knew perfectly well, as his master expected, that he wasn’t alluding to actual food, but something else entirely.

“I’m fine”, he snapped.

But he kept stubbornly his eyes down, putting an end to Yagari’s doubts: something wasn’t right. Silently, he scrutinized the young man sitting on the floor; as usual, he had refused to take place beside his master. It was obvious that he was repressing his tremors, as well as trying to control his breath. As for his eyes, Yagari guessed now that their shine was mainly caused by fever.

“You need blood this much? You still haven’t understood that if you feed frequently and regularly, you’d keep all your mental capacities, like any normal vampire? Even better, that you would take so little from your victims that they would hardly suffer from it?”

Yagari knew how Zero’s condition repelled him, even after he became a stable vampire. Yet, during the few visits his former student paid him, he had guessed that Zero got over his disgust and regularly took blood from different people, in order to stay in perfect health while harming his victims as little as possible. Since the dawn of times, a thriving black market had existed to answer to this demand, and the hunters knew this better than anyone else. With who and in which conditions did Zero feed, Yagari had always refused to know. Still, his student, like his vampire peers, had subsisted those few years without causing any scandal...

Seeing Zero’s pitiful state, Yagari was doubting again: had he been wrong?

“Zero, tell me what’s going on.”

Without hesitation, Yagari got up and walked to his student. Immediately, he seemed to stand on edge: every inch of his body tensed, and he threw himself back violently, as if trying to fade into the wall.

“Stay away”, he growled, in a voice becoming raspier with each second.

Yagari didn’t listen and walked to him, dead set on examining him in detail.

“Get up, Zero.”

Powerless, as if his thoughts were slowed, Zero stayed curled against the wall until his former teacher’s hand was about to seize his arm. His amethyst eyes widened.

“Stay away!”

A flash, the sound of a blade being unsheathed. Yagari stumbled back, holding his forearm against him. Protected by his leather vest, the slash was only a scratch. Disregarding the pain, the hunter’s alert eye came back on his student, studying every one of his reactions.

Zero had gotten up hastily, drawing his sabre in a purely defensive reflex. Panting, he held the blade before him. Back against the wall, he was struggling to stay on his feet, while fever made his eye shine and sweat soaked his neck and forehead. Talking seemed to be a strain to him.

“Stay...where you are...”

And then his eyes fell – almost unwillingly – on Yagari’s wound. At the sight of blood, his panting breath stopped abruptly, then became even more ragged, broken and whizzing. His quivers became out of control and, under his lips, unclenching his jaws, two voracious fangs began to show.

The amethyst of his eyes had turned ruby red. Yet he moved to the other side of the room, backward, his blade pathetically held in front of him. Yagari was a hunter hardened by life and its cruelty, felt he yet a lump in his throat seeing the state Zero was in, the only one he ever saw as his son.

What he feared had become a certainty.

“Good God, Zero...by bonding you to her, she reactivated your Level E decay?”

If Zero heard him, he didn’t show it. The vampire’s ruby eyes were riveted to the cut, seeing nothing but the blood oozing from it. He had a strangled rattle, ran a hungry tongue on his fever-dried lips...

And suddenly the sabre fell in a metallic shatter. A hand clenched on his month, Zero coughed horribly before falling to his knees. While he had expected to fight for his life against a starving vampire, Yagari stayed frozen in dismay. A violent heave stopped Zero’s cough, and between the young man’s tensed fingers oozed an opaque and slimy liquid. Bile.

Struck down, Yagari looked at his curled up student, shaken with small spasms while he tried to catch his breath between two heaves. His red eyes and fangs still remained, betraying his terrible desire for blood.

The hunter clenched his fists, at wit’s ends. Starving vampires did not _throw up_ at the sight of blood, Level E even less so.

While his former master kept repeating to himself this harsh truth, Zero, who was finally starting to calm down, looked up on him with a feverish gaze, more crimson than ever.

“What she did to me...is not the Level E. It’s far worse...”

.

 

.

 

.

Yori closed the old tome, unable to continue. Called out by this story she already wrote down some years ago, memories were once again rushing in her mind, more intense than anything she ever knew. Vampire thirst, unsatisfied, insatiable, more painful than ever...

She tried to fight these foreign memories for a few minutes, to no avail. She perfectly knew that Zero’s tantalizing ordeal was only beginning...

“Yuuki...Did you know something like this would happen to him? Did you expect it to...submit him?”

In a nook of her altered memory, she thought she caught the Pureblood’s guilty and pained looked. Proud-looking, Yuuki turned away and disappeared into the void. In short breath, Yori took her head between her hands, haunted by thirst, and like the Zero from her memories, she couldn’t satisfy it.

Knowing she might loose control, she ceased the fight. She stumbled back to her writing case, grabbed a pen and let herself be taken by the memory threatening to engulf her.

The pen flowed on the paper, sketching the beginning of a painful and never-ending nightmare.

.

 

.

.

He was running. He was running with the feeling that, no matter where he went, she would know where to find him. And he could run as far as he wanted, but the feeling of her presence would remain, dormant, ineffable.

Because they were _bonded_.

His coat flapping in the wind, he ran, just as he had ran to escape Klasdic, instead of joining Yuuki like she asked him. He had ran, for a night and a day through the storm, using every resource of the sated vampire he was then.

Unlike what she told him before disappearing, he had no trouble disobeying her, fleeing her. Puzzled by this, he ran as far as he could, stayed alert for a few days, watchful for any threat, any suspicious feeling that she might have followed him.

But Yuuki hadn’t shown up. Within him, nothing had changed, except for this surprising, absolute certainty that she lived somewhere in the world, and that he only needed to concentrate a bit to know which way would bring him back to her as quickly as possible. He stopped trying to solve this mystery, and even pursued his way in the exact opposite direction.

...Until the fateful day when he tried to feed again...

Lost in thoughts, Zero was still running, faster even. He didn’t know where he was going. It didn’t matter. Everything was darkness. Nothing was real. Was he dreaming, was he dead? He had to run, or she would catch him, subdue him with a single word, once more. But running did not chase away the terrifying, appalling, vile feeling he had when, for the first time after running from Yuuki, he tried to taste another blood than hers.

It should have been a pleasant moment. The woman in question knew about people like him, and agreed to feed him her blood after payment. A lady of the night like many others, but whom Zero didn’t have to seduce and convince before sating his true hunger. Yes, while he felt his usual pang of guilt, it should have been easy, and even pleasurable: the stranger was quite pretty, with a blood which, under her skin, was sure to be wonderful.

It seemed easy enough...Until Zero sank his fangs in his willing victim’s throat.

Hard to say what had been the more sickening. The taste of blood on his tongue, taking on the horrible and disgusting taste of rotten fruit? The feeling of her body against him, warm and willing, turning cold and stiff under his hands, already a decomposing carcass? Or was it the repulsive certitude that instead of keeping himself alive, he was drinking at Death’s very source?

For Zero, such an aversion changed the meaning behind Yuuki’s words. Yes, he could come and go as he pleased. Yes, if he stayed away from her voice and commands, he could live like he intended. But now, he could no longer feed...

...except with her blood, whispered a voice inside him. An atrocious truth he could not accept.

Zero’s teeth clenched at this memory. His canines, reflection of his starving desire, were longer and sharper than ever. Under his feet, snow was creaking. The cold wind howled, wrapping him in such a white shroud that it was impossible for him to see where he was going. It didn’t matter.

Ever since he had a glimpse of this horrible truth, with how many willing persons did he try? Every time, this revulsion for their blood had appeared, out of his guts and infecting his whole body and mind. Every time more violent, every time more draining.

Since then, Zero was only surviving, running from civilization during the day and trying desperately, at night, to break the curse. He even tried to take Blood Tablets again, but they proved themselves useless, as it happened far too often. He was like a starving man, tortured by food out of reach. He was like a man stranded in a desert, finding himself before a well in which floated the days-old carcass of a dead animal.

Sometimes, when the luring water was too tempting, he threw himself at it and swallowed in great gulps, before throwing up the polluted liquid...

What could he do now? He had no one to turn to. He went to his former master Toga Yagari, on mission in the region, but his mentor couldn’t help him; worse, his only suggestion had been to follow her, and this very idea sickened him with anger. In a last burst of energy, Zero had left, and, to his surprise, his former master did nothing to hold him back.

Even though, despite of himself, he was becoming dangerous. But what to do of this shapeless memory, this chase of a poor terrorized human girl, in a town without a name? And when did it happen? Hours ago, or days before? And did Yuuki really appear to stop him from doing the unthinkable? The only thing he was more or less sure was that he barely resisted: half-conscious, led by the cruel instinct awoken by the human maid, he had jumped at Yuuki's throat, swallowed a tiny mouthful of the vampiress’ blood, before running farther away.

“I need your help, Zero.”

He bit back a curse, boiling with rage and powerlessness. Help her, she who brought him back to the state of a reject of two species? She who forced him to live through her memories an abomination he should not care about?

“Never!”

Zero stopped, his eyes burning – more than likely because of the fever. Anger tormented him as much as thirst. Yuuki, his only solution? He’d rather die! She had no right upon him anymore. The former Yuuki, from the Academy, the one who maybe understood him the most, and who gave him blood in complete innocence...she died a long time ago. Ever since Kaname put his fangs on her, this pale, sketchy human Yuuki had gone.

The new Yuuki, the vampiress, the heinous Pureblood, had no right to give him orders. She couldn’t ask him or command him to do anything. She shouldn’t even expect his help. Alone in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nothing, in the heart of the storm, Zero was categorical. Nevermind the past, she did not, nor will ever have any right on him.

Because she had been the first one to betray him. Not when she forced him to bite her, in doing so sealing their new bond, unique and irreversible. No, she betrayed him, way before all this...

She betrayed him, years ago. When she revealed her true nature. When she left without turning back. Disappearing without leaving a trace. As if their shared childhood never existed.

“Zero.”

Startled, his widened eyes looked for the source of this child’s voice, powerful enough to tear a vicious shudder from him with only one word. A shiver of fear, but also of relief. A contrived relief, making him mentally nauseous.

Within the storm, a silhouette appeared a few steps ahead. Kneeling in the snow, paying no heed to the snowflakes lashing her face, a small girl looked up at him. Red tears had streamed down her pale cheeks. Her hair flapped in the wind, a long, soft veil mangled by the whirlwinds. With modesty, she wrapped her beige coat around her, hiding from view her abdomen, torn by a gaping wound.

When she got up, a black satin thread fell from her small hand; at the end of it was a crystal trapped in amber.

Just a child when she was kneeling in the snow, the apparition instantly became, when she stood up, a gorgeous young woman, whose beauty was both fascinating and dangerous. Her wound had disappeared under her split black satin dress, but her red tears remained on her beautiful severe face. The child’s intense sorrow had vanished from the woman’s brow, now insensitive and displeased.

“Are you finally done acting like a child?” she hissed, and he had a sordid feeling of déjà-vu. “Come back to me, Zero. You know it’s the only way.”

As she whispered those words, she lowered her head a bit, but without taking her sharp mahogany eyes from him. A smile then appeared on her lips. A wide, disgusting smile, full of want, unveiling imposing and crude fangs.

“I’m the only one who can sate you now.”

When she moved towards him, he stepped back, snapping his jaws menacingly.

“Stay where you are!”

The grimacing Yuuki obeyed, but her smile widened again. Seeing her like this was driving him mad. With anger, despair, deception. Despite his will to resist her, he couldn’t stand her macabre sneer, the sum of what she had become: a Pureblood, with no consideration for him and the other lower vampires.

Zero clenched his fist: nevermind the torture it caused him, he would never come back to her. He would never lay at her feet, like the faithful thrall she wanted him to be, he would never help her. Never!

As if to echo his rebellious thoughts, a sound of clicking heels rose up; someone was approaching. Total nonsense, since the snow should have muffled any step, but Zero, trapped inside his nightmare, didn’t notice it. On edge, he looked to his right, just as a silhouette emerged from the storm.

A woman, dressed in black woollen clothes, stopped. Long black curls escaped from her bun. Panting, her grey eyes widened at the sight of Yuuki, and even more when catching Zero’s murderous gaze. In a clicking of her boots, she turned round and tried to run away.

Zero didn’t give her time. Assassin at his core, he slid in front of the terrorized young woman, grasped her waist pitilessly, oblivious to her panicked screams. His ruby-coloured eyes glaring at Yuuki, he sank his teeth into the hapless mortal’s throat.

Immediately, the pleasant smell of her skin became rotting carrion to his nostrils. The warm and shivering flesh against him became icy and stiff, even as she was still struggling. As for the blood he secretly beseeched when he purled up his lips, it tasted like steel, or an overripe fruit, before taking unknown tastes, yet among the most repulsive and unbearable he had ever known.

Yet he persisted. And when, in a titanic effort against his instinct, he swallowed, he saw Yuuki’s smile fade, her contracted face become neutral. Her long hair danced in the storm in lustrous reflections. Bloody tears contrasted even more on her expressionless cheek.

And true tears welled at her eyes, inside which all the sadness and despair of the world seemed to be entrapped.

.

.

 

“ _Zero!”_

 

A heave. Abundant saliva. Then the taste. Brackish, pressing, disgusting.

Without realizing it, he rolled on his side and spit repeatedly the acrid substance. He hasn’t totally woken yet, but his body acted out of instinct. Otherwise, he could have choked on it...

Panting and nauseous, he looked distractingly at the stain on the worm-eaten floor, before falling back on the bed, a trembling hand across his mouth. Everything was still mixed up in his clouded mind. Darkness surrounding him, the memories, the harsh covers, the dream and how it had felt...

Even in his nightmares, drinking someone else’s blood caused a rejection among the most powerful he ever felt.

A purely physical one. It came from deep inside, as if his own organs were revolting, rejecting the very idea of drinking a stranger’s blood. Nevermind the thirst, the pain, the madness inside which he was falling little by little. While his mind would have damned itself for a bloody and delicious remission, his body was adamant.

_**No.** _

The wave of nausea was gone but he was still shaking when rising up from his bed. He looked around his room. On the table, his eye caught a gleam of light, caused by a pale ray of sunlight passing through the ill-closed drapes.

The Bloody Rose.

He pulled back the covers and stumbled to the table where, the night before, he put the loaded gun and its bullets. Exhausted after only a few steps, he leaned on the table, his crazed eyes locked on the weapon. His trembling hand brushed the object with a madman’s reverence...

Then he clenched his teeth, growled desperately. He violently swept the gun from the table, and it fell loudly on the wooden floor. Bullets scattered on the ground. His hands grasped his temples as he bit back a scream of pain and anger. And to think that he couldn’t even put an end to this hell!

“Damn you!”

Before falling into a deep and nightmarish sleep, he tried to end it all. He remembered the insatiable thirst torturing him to the point of despair, the cold circle of the barrel on his temple, his finger tightening on the trigger. He remembered his desire to chase all pain from his tortured mind...

...and the invisible force preventing him from pulling the trigger.

This very same force which today, turned his stomach upside down at any forbidden thought, bringing his entire body to riot against itself. This power always reminding him that he had a master, somewhere, and that he needed just one word, one gesture, one mouthful for a complete relief.

Tonight, he had realized that this same force prevented him to end his damned existence.

He fell to his knees, panting, half-crazy. What to do now? His life-long companion, the Bloody Rose, the only one who never betrayed him, couldn’t do anything for him. Even rest, which was until recently a respite, now led him through an endless torture of nightmares...when sleep simply did not elude him.

He was going through the ordeal of every Level-E – physical and mental decay, the vile procession of bloody and beastly desires – but without the possibility of quenching this thirst to delay death, without the merciful loss of conscience freeing the unfortunate soul from its tortured humanity. So what could he do?

The image of Yuuki, sneering triumphally amidst the storm, invaded his mind as viscously as a lurking beast. He instinctively bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in anger, and one of his canines – no longer shrinking – easily pierced the soft flesh. But his blood, the only one which didn’t inspire him nausea and disgust, meant less than nothing to him.

“Damn you, Yuuki...”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Sir? Are you up?”

On his knees, he stared at the door with a look of fear. It remained respectfully closed, but there was a knock again.

“Sir? Would you like some breakfast?”

Zero looked down, swallowed with difficulty as he tried to put his thoughts back together. When at last he raised his voice, it was weak and raspy.

“No...it’s okay.”

The human seemed satisfied by this answer; Zero thought he could hear their steps walking down the corridor. In the last few days, his senses usually enhanced by thirst were becoming duller...

Probably the sign that things were worsening.

Choosing not to dwell on that thought, Zero stayed focused for a while on his own panting breath. After several minutes, it calmed down a bit, just like his mind, which fell into a familiar haze. Yet the menace of a new fit remained, vicious.

Exhausted, the vampire got back up, mindless of the weapon still on the ground, once his pride and now utterly useless. Wild-haired, exhausted, fangs bared, Zero looked mournfully outside the inn, from between the drapes.

And what he saw froze him in place, before inspiring a pale sneer.

How could he forget? Last night, in his madness, even before seizing the Bloody Rose to shoot one final time, he already thought about another way out, in case his suicide would fail. This was the very reason why he had chosen this old inn, in this remote village in the middle of an isolated country.

His eyes filled with a pale red tint while he stared at the village square, where people were already meeting. At the centre, a scaffold was being finished.

Yuuki will have to get by on her own. And while his body was already fighting against the idea of giving up his only way to survive, his mind was overjoyed.

 

.

.

 

.

The scaffold.

A scream. A dying body, pierced with silver bullets...

As she saw with rising horror what was going to happen, Yori dropped her pen and curled up on her chair. Exceptionally obedient, the memory stopped right away. Her forehead on her knees, her arms wrapped around her folded legs, she tried to catch her breath. In the book-filled room, only lit by a desk lamp, there was a deep silence. Tears swelled in her eyes, and she started to sob.

Insidiously, another recollection awoke in a nook of her tormented memory. A small familiar form appeared, approached slowly and put a clumsy but considerate hand on her shoulder. Silently, she whispered that being a vampire wasn’t just running and suffering. Through her tears, Yori smiled, soothed. This Yuuki, vampiress still in bloom, was so much comforting that the haughty adult Yuuki...

Without even realizing it, she took her pen again, grabbed a new paper, and dived into the memory, way older, way lighter. Almost tender.

 

.

 

.

.

Their steps walking away.

People were passing by, some of them she recognized as being from the small neighbouring town. Some came and went, in a hurry, busy, peering frantically at notice boards. Everywhere there was chatter, laughter, even some tears, whispered goodbyes.

The two lovers at the other end of the station, sharing a long and moving farewells. The old couple looking at a map inside, in the hall. Children playing on a nearby platform, their cheeks reddened by the morning cold.

Everything, she heard everything. Their words, their whispers, and, if she wanted to, even their heartbeats.

Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes, now so sensitive to light. And she saw him.

The setting sun coloured slightly his alabaster skin, enhancing the contrast with his ebony hair. His curls, both perfect and tousled, brushed his serene forehead, his proud neck, danced in the gusts of wind caused by a departing train. His deep brown eyes, slightly red-tinted – a red visible only to their species – were looking ahead.

For one split moment, she worried about this bitterness she thought she could see in his gorgeous pensive pupils. She followed his gaze, to the end of the platform they were standing on.

Several silhouettes were walking away. She felt a small heartache: they were gone.

“Kaname...was it really what you wanted?” she heard herself asking.

Since he wasn’t answering, she turned to him, saw that he was looking at her in silence. He finally lowered his eyelids, and whispered:

“It was the best option. They have families, friends...A life of their own. I don’t want them to waste it for me.”

As if to protest, one of the silhouette stopped. Ruka’s gaze came back on them, lost. Feeling her hesitation, Kain gently grabbed her arm gently and tugged her away. Yielding, the young vampiress followed.

“But if escorting us was their choice?”

Unmoving, she breathed deeply, a lump in her throat. Not so long ago, this would have mean that she was about to cry. Yet, today, she didn’t feel any tear coming up. Her heartache was only caused by nostalgia.

“Even if they’re Aristocrats, they are but mere vampires, and I am a Pureblood. Every one of their choices regarding me are not as free as they think. They barely notice it.”

He opened his mysterious eyes, and smiled.

“Why so many questions? Do you regret their presence so much?”

She couldn’t even think of what to say, for a scream burst out, following a fall. And the smell of blood, tempting and powerful, invaded her flared nostrils.

Her breath ragged and raspy, she snapped her head towards the origin of this overpowering perfume. Already her fangs reacted to the call. On the other platform, one of the child had fallen. His face was tense as he fought back tears and looked bravely at his scraped knee.

While the other kids surrounded him and his mother ran to him, both worried and annoyed, blood oozed slowly along the pale injured skin.

_A delicious sight..._

An arm passed behind her back and stopped her in a brutal and possessive embrace. A hand both caring and imperious slid in her hair and grabbed them gently, making her look up. His lips met hers. Blood became strangely closer and more delicious than ever...

With this sudden and intoxicating contact, her mind faded. What was more irresistible? This tender and passionate kiss, or the taste of blood Kaname was giving her like this, from his own wrist?

She closed her eyes slowly. Nevermind this kid and his all-too common blood, nevermind Ruka and the others, nevermind people and their chats. In his arms, prisoner of his lips, sharing his essence, she was living what she always unconsciously wanted.

The siren of their train about to depart pulled them from their moment. They parted reluctantly, studied each other wordlessly. Then he smiled, and she smiled back, her heart flooding with love and gratitude.

Kain, Aidou, Ruka and their other friends had left. But she had forgotten until now the other side of this sad coin...

Now, Kaname and her would carry on their journey, alone.

.

 

.

“ _Kaname.”_

Yuuki blinked weakly. She was sitting down, elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands, and she had no idea what time it could be. Unmoving, she simply closed her eyelids, giving herself a few more minutes of peace and quiet, nested inside her memories.

Her departure. Back then she was only a young vampire, Pureblood in name only. Because of her lack of experience, she had never felt safer in her life than during those days.

This kiss they shared on the platform, before departure. It seemed centuries ago...

She took the time to nod to ease her neck, barely stiff despite her long hours of waiting. This was part of being a vampire, too: to barely feel the passing of time, as if it was incredibly slow.

With a sigh, she leaned on her chair, her gorgeous brown hair veiling her lowered face. She opened her eyes and looked down on the sleeping body.

Lying on the bed, wrapped in her black coat, her brown hair curling on her pillow, the maid was sleeping soundly. Her eyelids, gently closed, perfectly relaxed, echoed the innocence of her parted lips.

Only her right hand, clenched on her dress around her umbilici, seemed to jealously protect something, a treasure still unseen but priceless.

With slow grace, Yuuki left her chair, her own beige coat on her arm, and approached the bed where she was sleeping. Without taking her inscrutable eyes off her, she raised a hand towards the alarm clock, ticking on the wobbly night stand. A small gush of wind blew on one of its toothed wheel, and a spring stretched. The alarm was set to ring in five minutes. Between the inspection of the young human’s papers and her keen hearing listening to the entire house, Yuuki had already a very good idea of what could be the everyday life of the unconscious girl. Altering her memories hadn’t been very hard.

The maid would wake shortly before starting her duty, at five o’ clock, like every morning. She would notice her state; her coat she didn’t even take off before falling asleep. And then she would remember her misfortune last night, in the city’s back alleys: chased by a thug, she called for help, and locals came to her rescue. Challenged by the numbers, the aggressor, probably a thief looking for an easy prey, chose to retreat.

She would also remember this matronly woman present, who, seeing her almost fainting, guessed the minuscule presence hidden within her. She would remember her advice. And nothing else.

No anguishing chase in the poor part of town, no assassin. No sickening couple, linked by a shameful and bloody embrace in the damp darkness of a back alley.

Even the scratch on her arm never existed. Silently, Yuuki stared at the intact limb, that she healed with her breath just like another Pureblood did to her once. In that moment, confronted to the carmine essence, so close and so tempting, she wondered if such closeness had been tempting to the Pureblood too, years ago.

_Kaname…_

Soundlessly, Yuuki sat beside the young woman, her beige coat on her lap. For a few seconds, she challenged herself into remembering the almost irresistible temptation she felt in the street last night, confronted to the blood of the young sleeping human. Almost immediately, her fangs answered to this memory, and she knew her eyes had taken that unmistakable carmine tint.

Mercilessly, with barely more effort that she had done to remember, she repressed that desire, the bare bone urge of every vampire. An appetite extremely difficult to chase away for the inexperienced, but for her, she just needed to concentrate.

And to be fair, she had gotten an excellent teacher...

Her hunger psychologically satisfied, she reached out to stroke the maid’s slender face, who didn’t even flinch.

“Take care of you...”

Yuuki glanced one last time at the hand on her belly.

“...for the both of you.”

Then she turned away. Soundlessly, she opened the only window in the attic room and slid outside, fading into the dying night.

With a satchel for only luggage, Yuuki started to amble on the roofs, paying no heed to the darkness and the slippery treacherous snow, wandering like a cat, pensive and nonchalant. From time to time, a detail, like someone passing by in the deserted streets below caught her gaze, but it seemed nothing was worthy of her attention, nor her presence, for very long. She went, not serene, but detached from the life surrounding her, a human-shaped spirit jumping from roof to roof, striding along tile and zinc with the same grace than a queen in her castle.

Suddenly she stopped, emerging from her thoughts, as if something invisible reached her from the outside. Without hesitation, she looked North-East. Yet there was nothing remarkable in this landscape of chimneys and snow-covered roofs.

“Zero...”

Inside her wandering mind, she finally chased her memories to focus on the present, therefore on Zero. To her surprise, he who never stopped running for weeks, only remaining to the same place for a few hours, had suddenly stopped. Worried, Yuuki probed more deeply the obscure link bonding them now.

Yes, worried. If Zero had known, he probably wouldn’t believe it. After all, someone who had chained him like this to another destiny could not possibly worry about his health. And yet...

In the ocean of sorrow that had been Yuuki’s life these last few weeks, Zero had been the only light keeping her from falling into madness. During those accursed twenty-one days following Kaname’s murder, only the thought that Zero might help her stopped her from confronting the closest Pureblood family right away.

Attacking the strongest one...a stupid and hateful excuse, which would only have led to a quick and welcome demise.

It was only once she located Zero, once she saw him, watching him unbeknownst to him, that her morbid and desperate frenzy calmed down. Or rather was blown away like a candle.

Five years. Five long years had passed since she left the Academy. For five years she lived in a stilled time, along her first love and lover, Kaname. To sum up what she did for all this time could be very simple...and very complicated...

They travelled the vampire way, without a destination nor delay, with eternity as their clock. He told them about his lives –the one he lived as Kaname, her brother, son of Kuran Juri and Kuran Haruka, and his former existence, before his reincarnation at the hands of Rido, Yuuki’s uncle. She learnt the story of their world, this Night World which had been closed to Yuuki for more than sixteen years, and tried to understand its countless subtleties.

They talked of many other things, more down to earth and frivolous, no less important to their eyes. With words when necessary, in silence when they only needed their gaze. He made her into a true Pureblood, she he had always seen as his soulmate. Alone, they learnt to know each other, touch each other, to show this attraction they felt so strongly...

They had _loved_ each other...

Yuuki stopped herself, repressing painfully the flow of sensations, purely carnal or simply platonic, awoken by these simple words. Five years, every day brighter and stronger…

To finally stop, without any warning. Under the blade of a merciless cleaver. How could she accept death peacefully, when she lived for five years with a myth of eternity?

Finding Zero had been just another torture to add to her disillusions. He too had changed during those five years. And while she, barely awakening from her sublime dream of immortality, saw him as a light at the end of the tunnel, he had forgotten her.

Even worse, she understood when she faced him: he despised her. Loathed her.

Yuuki knew she had no excuse, no right on Zero. Only the last pang of panic she had felt in front of Kaname’s murder led her to impose her will.

And after the very first shot, she told herself there was no turning back. As for the rest, everything went remarkably smoothly. Her forced enthronement to the status of Zero’s “master” had taken place. Until then, she had only heard about it in old legends from Kaname’s former life. But, against all odds, the bond had formed.

And it was driving Zero insane...

Yuuki bit her lips, put her hand on her neck where, a few hours ago, Zero had sank his teeth. It had been the first time since Klasdic. Until then, Yuuki only followed him from afar, sparing him the murders and worries he sometimes brought onto himself in his madness. She couldn’t deny that she was counting on this proximity to influence Zero’s choice. She even expected it would lead him faster to the truth: that she was his only solution.

But this was _Zero_. He probably hoped to die, rather than to admit his “defeat”. “I don’t want to be the pawn of a Kuran anymore” he screamed right to his murderous scowls. And in that street, out of patience, Yuuki knew she had only added fuel to the fire.

“ _Are you done acting like a child?”_

The very definition of arrogance. As a Pureblood, Yuuki wasn’t one to regret her words...or rather, she shouldn’t have. But postponing the moment when Kaname’s murderer would give up the ghost was unbearable. After all, if she took upon herself to shoot Zero, it was for this very reason...

Revenge. What would come after? She had no idea. And she didn’t care about it.

Strangely, the memory of her former existence kept fading away ever since she awoke as a Pureblood. Only the strongest remained more or less intact. And one of them came back to her: the moment when she begged Zero to spare Shizuka, to forget his desire of revenge, for it would only bring him death and destruction. If she had known back then what the true feeling of revenge felt like...

...She never would have held Zero back. She would never allowed herself to. That was certain.

Deep in these dark thoughts, Yuuki welcomed dawn without a flinch. The pale grey light of this spring morning wasn’t enough to blind her trained vampire eyes. Sitting on the edge of an unlit chimney, she chose to stop thinking, and watched the small provincial town waking up. Down below, a young newspaper seller cried out the news to the passers-by coming up...

“New execution planned today in Neidchmart! When will the exactions against the perjuries stop? Ask for the News! Everything about the other executions! The mistakes of the vigilantes, innocent families tortured!”

Paying no attention to the few inhabitants who, at their window, discovered with astonishment a stranger sitting on their neighbour’s chimney, Yuuki started to braid her hair, more practical when travelling. It was time to carry on; Zero may have stopped running at the end of the night, but he still managed to put quite a distance between them while she was tending to the fainted maid, and she didn’t like it. Even if he had shown an impressive self-control those last few weeks, it was obvious that he was getting weaker.

The young newspaper seller, having found a few buyers, carried on his way.

“Ask for the News! Another exaction against the perjuries! What does the Government do about the alleged bloodsuckers?”

The vampire’s slender fingers froze, letting go of her hair which fell back silkily on her shoulders.

Perjuries. Exaction. Execution.

Neidchmart. A remote village, north-west from here.

Perjuries. Bloodsuckers.

_Zero._

Yuuki leapt up, her heart beating. No. Even in dire straits, Zero wasn’t stupid enough to be captured by angry farmers. On the other hand, he was perfectly capable to provoke them...

In equilibrium on the chimney, Yuuki turned round, her eyes probed the north-west as well as the small link bonding her to her new reluctant liegeman. She swore and jumped from the roof in a whirl of beige fabric and brown hair, and ran through the still-awaking city.

“Knowing you..I should have guessed!”

That to force Zero’s hand like this wouldn’t lead to anything good.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless translator's note: I'm constantly struggling not to use all the weird words I find in dictionaries when I translate. Otherwise you would see "flabbergasted" or "brobdingnagian" every other paragraph.
> 
> Well, Another week, another chapter. We would love to hear your thoughts about the story so far. Any theories?


	5. Chapter Four : Deadly. - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 4, now in better, more grammatically-correct English, all thanks to ghostbunny, who kindly corrected it! A million thanks to her, and enjoy the chapter! :-)

“Yuuki?”

Kaien Kurosu took off his snow-covered coat and left it on a chair. His small glasses gleamed while he searched the kitchen, the living room and the corridor leading to his office. Apart from the fire burning in the chimney, all the lights were off. Feeling curious, he walked to the stairs, listening carefully in hope of hearing a sign of life.

At last he heard a voice coming from upstairs. He climbed the stairs to meet it.

There, the lamps were all lit, in a striking contrast with the darkness downstairs. The man smiled, recognizing the work of a particular brunette, who had haunted the great house for five years and who tried, every night, to light every lamp on her way. Was it out of fear of the dark, tonight too?

Or was it, rather, to comfort somebody else?

He walked down the corridor, glanced at the bathroom on the way. Someone had prepared a bath and, judging by the wet floor and the damp, unfolded towels, the ablutions were already finished. The man couldn’t help but frown upon seeing the slight red tint of the water in the bathtub. Other memories became superimposed to this image. Ones of a deserted house he had just left, where other hunters were still carefully investigating. A house wide open to the winds, inside which two bloody bodies were growing cold, slaughtered mercilessly. Two of his companions. Two of his friends.

The Kiryu house...

Kaien briefly closed his eyes to chase his sorrow away. Impassive once again, he kept walking down the corridor, towards the only room with a door left ajar. From behind it rose a tiny voice, one that was gentle, yet lively. The man smiled again, touched. In silence, he peeked through the small opening.

“Ah! I almost forgot the pillow!”

A silhouette rushed in front of his reduced field of vision. Unmoving, he watched the child open a cupboard, tiptoeing to grab a big feather pillow. For one split second, the brunette froze, her eyes suddenly glassy, her small face devoid of expression. Then she snapped out of her thoughts as quickly as she closed the cupboard. When she turned around, her mahogany eyes were once again shining with kindness, matching her kind smile.

“Here!”

With her long brown hair trailing behind her, she disappeared from the man’s field of vision. He didn’t try to enter. A sad smile on his face, he walked up the corridor.

Kaien was proud of her. He barely had to tell her what to do, her natural kindness and generosity were enough. If her slight hesitation was to be believed, she was asking herself a lot of questions, but she didn’t have the “common sense” or rather the indecency to try to know more, like a lot of adults would have.

She understood that the other one had experienced something difficult, and she didn’t want to know more. There was a time for everything, and she chose to favour comforting this other person.

Kaien remembered her saddened expression, when he had arrived a short while earlier, on this snow-filled evening. He saw her approach the young stranger carefully, asking him simple things, like his name, or if she could touch him, guide him. He, the responsible adult, he watched her with a mixture of pride and emotion, while she embraced the newcomer with her kindness and concern.

Another child, broken.

This night would stay forever engraved in his memory, Kurosu Kaien was sure of it. This winter night when he was given a hunter son, now orphaned.

In his house would now live two beings who were among the most illustrious of their respective kinds. Sworn enemies, and yet they would grow up together. For Kaien, who dreamt of harmony between the two species...was it Fate?

A young boy, with the blood of entire generations of famous hunters, who proved by his mere aura that he soon would be worth as much, or more, than his human ancestors. A potential which would be magnified by his vampire transformation.

A small girl, from the most glorious Pureblood family who ever walked the earth. A child who, oblivious of her vampire nature, already demonstrated the most beautiful ideals of the human race.

Their innocence and ignorance of each other’s status would probably lead them to stand together, to help each other. And when at last the truth would fall, there was a possibility that this friendship would remain, becoming the keystone of his project.

Yes, tonight, Kaien Kurosu, the man who intended to create the first vampire-human school, only had a vague idea of what the future had in store for them. He thought, even hoped that, in good times or bad, the outcome of this story would be glorious.

 

.

.

 

.

 

“‘Glorious’, huh?”

Her own whisper pulled her from her thoughts. Her pen in the air, Yori hesitated to carry on the story. Then she brought herself to put a full stop.

“Are you sure it was the right word, Kaien-san?”

Her question echoed in the silence, and remained unanswered. She only had a few recollections from the Academy’s former chairman. Only fragments of a distant past, from the different memories given to her...

She sighed, and began to gather the sheets covered in writing, when an image slowly imposed itself onto her. Giving up the struggle, she took a pencil and let her hand go freely, while the memory took shape on the drawing paper.

With aggressive precision, the pencil sketched the metallic and shiny shape of a gun down to its very last details. The memory rumbled in her, distant and threatening, pulsating to the rhythm of ominous shots and the sickening smell of cannon powder.

A man: prisoner of his lowest instincts. A frantic flight. A terrifying feeling of despair. Thirst: devouring and unstoppable.

Wanting everything to stop, _right now_.

“...So much suffering...”

In a flash of clarity, she noticed that her pencil had carried on its way, starting a new story with a completely different kind of writing. Surprised, but curious, she let herself go, once again plunging into another’s existence, for a fleeting memory.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

_The scorpion cornered by the flames_

 

_Ends up stinging itself_

 

.

 

_The vampire trapped in his thirst_

 

_Maybe has no other choice..._

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

**Chapter Four**

 

.

 

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 _Deadly_.

 

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The last crate fell loudly on the frozen ground, scattering a mist of snowflakes. The man, bundled in his fur coats, struggled to open the lid with a crowbar. At last the lid gave in, and the shy light of the morning sun shone on several small black boxes, marked with a complex seal and foreign writing.

“Blades. Rifles. Guns,” the man listed while stepping back to his men. “And here’s the ammunition. Everything’s here.”

From under his shabby fur hat, his sly and piercing gaze gauged his client. The man before him wore only trousers, an ample hessian shirt and a sleeveless vest, and yet seemed to hardly suffer from the cold wind that blew this morning, messing with his blazing red hair.

The young man confronted the man dressed in fur without a blink, his eyes as icy as a mountain stream. When he looked down on the few opened crates at his feet, the large scar on his right cheek threw troubling shadows on his pale skin.

“And how do I know they’re genuine?”

The men standing behind him silently nodded, cautious. They were all strong guys, hardened by mountain life and its harsh winters. Despite the fact that he was one of the youngest among them, they all seemed to respect the red-haired man, and he was probably their leader.

“These weapons look perfectly normal to me,” he added. “What if you’re lying to us?”

“Well, what do you know,” mumbled the crowbar man, “You’re not as dumb as you look...”

In the assembly of peasants, the faces hardened even more, frowns deepened, grips tightened on scythes, axes, maces and other makeshift weapons. Among the hooded and bundled up men facing them, tension also rose. Looking over his shoulder, the red-haired man calmed his people, while with one gesture, the man in the fur coat did the same with his companions – though some of them had already slid their hand to their chest or belt, ready to draw.

Still watching his mysterious “dealers”, the red-haired man grabbed a small revolver from a nearby crate. He studied it carefully, and checked each of the firing parts. After loading it with ammunition from the same crate, he cautiously asked the smuggler:

“They’re below average…a lot of superfluous decorations. It’s said that they enhance the object’s abilities...but once again, where’s the guarantee that you’re not lying to us?”

The man with a fur hat scrutinized him, and grunted something in his mother tongue.

“ _Bring out the thing._ ”

A shiver ran through the group of smugglers, not caused by the cold. Under their hoods and hats, the men looked hesitantly at each other. Their leader made an exasperated face. For the first time, he turned away from his “customers” and threw his crowbar to one of his men, who, surprised, barely caught it. In a flow of foreign words, the man in the fur hat pushed his way through the thin crowd and jumped into the smuggler’s truck. A few seconds later, he reappeared, holding something that looked like another crate. It was entirely covered with tightly fit fabric.

When he carelessly threw the object on the ground, there came a metallic rattling noise, which was immediately covered by a furious hiss.

“You want proof?” asked the smuggler leader; his foreign accent thickening as his patience ran low. “Here’s one.”

Still looking scornfully at the red-haired man, he walked to the mysterious object, still giving out enraged hisses and metallic snaps from under the cover. The fabric fluttered vigorously and for one second, the red-haired peasant thought he could distinguish a shadow of a hand brushing the fabric.

“What is this?” he asked loudly, his gun still in his hand.

He and his fellow countrymen tensed up, on their guards. The mysterious crate looked suspicious to them, and its sounds reminded them the high-pitched growls of some mountain cats...

The leader of the smugglers blinked once; from inside the large thatched cottage behind the peasants, a drape quickly fell over a pale face. The face of someone who probably wasn’t allowed to look outside, but on hearing the ruckus couldn’t keep from doing so. The man smiled, amused.

“What is it?” he repeated with a laugh. “Why, it’s the proof you asked for!”

And with a grand gesture, he tore the fabric from the crate.

Everyone shuddered, peasants and smugglers alike. In the morning light, shone the bars of a cage, and, behind them, a child’s face. When the sun laid its rays upon him, the small body curled up in a corner of his prison. Dirty, shaking, he hid his grime-covered head under his skinny arms. He was wearing a washed-out, torn and muddied pair of pants, and a light anorak which had seen better days. He only had one sneaker, and it was far from being in good shape.

The raging hisses had gone, replaced by echoes of frightened sobs.

Speechless, the peasants looked at the tiny, shivering prisoner without understanding. Children of his age, in their village, spent winters learning how to read and write by the fireplace. They already knew how to handle a plough and how to ride a horse for when spring came back. Small sparkles of promising lives, source of a thousand joys; to put one in a cage was an abomination!

“How could you…!” grunted the red-haired leader who finally understood what the smuggler wanted. “I will never shoot a child!”

Behind him, the other peasants were more threatening than ever. The smugglers’ leader just shrugged, and lifted up the metal gate keeping the cage shut. The child remained frozen, so the smuggler threw him outside with a kick against the iron bars. The small being rolled in the snow before curling up again, shaking. His eyes, frantic and wide with terror, seemed to call for help under the morning light.

The smuggler lost all patience.

“You dumb lot!” he groaned. “You want anti-vampire weapons, and you can’t even fucking recognize one when it bares its fangs?”

But among the indecisive and nervous peasants, only one was perfectly still: the red-haired one. Deadly pale, with dilated irises and flaring nostrils, he was looking at the child with a terror laced with mute anger.

At the child, or rather his eyes. Red-coloured.

“Shoot it!” shouted the smuggler. “And you’ll know these weapons work on these monsters!”

The peasants were awaiting their leader’s orders. His grip surreptitiously tightened on his gun. At the same time, he gulped, shook his head, as if to prevent himself from doing something.

“Kill it!”

The child had stopped moaning, but was still shaking. Looking wildly around him, he struggled to get up and started to walk away, stumbling. Slowly, he approached the peasants, whispering and begging in a language totally unknown to them.

“ **Kill it! Or I’ll do it myself!”**

To put weight to his words, the smugglers’ leader seized his rifle, cocked it in a snapping sound. Immediately, the child shrieked, so loudly that it almost pierced their ears. Suddenly his movement became smoother, and he leapt away, moving erratically but almost too fast for the human eye. A supernatural force seemed to possess him.

“ **KILL IT!”**

And everything sped up.

“ **Renth! Don’t do this!”**

A door opened violently. Out of the cottage ran a woman with gorgeous auburn hair. Her eyes, as green as spring leaves, begged the red-haired man.

When he saw her from behind his shoulder, his face lost its last remaining colour.

“ **Hermia! NO!”**

The child curved suddenly towards the group of peasants. Behind his contorted lips were shining oversized fangs.

“Come on!”

At their leader’s order, the smugglers pulled out their weapons, while the child, nimble but chaotic, dashed through the crowd of peasants trying to stop him. Too fast for them, the small child barely slowed down and passed through easily. And under the surprised eyes of the smugglers, the aghast looks of the peasants and to the horror of the red-haired man, the child ran straight to the opened door.

Or rather, straight to the defenceless Hermia.

Nobody knew if she was indeed the target, or if the creature, who couldn’t stand the sun, saw in the house a dark sanctuary...

No time for doubt!

The young woman stopped dead in her tracks. Powerless, she watched the child running towards her...

“ **HERMIA!”**

A shot rang, and the child’s head exploded in a spray of sand. The purple seal had barely appeared before his body was nothing but dust on the cold snow, quickly swept away by the icy wind.

The detonation rolled through the mountains for a long time. At last silence fell again.

Speechless, her clothes full of the awful white dust, the one called Hermia looked up in turmoil. Her panic-stricken eyes looked for the one responsible.

The red-haired man, whom she had called Renth, was still holding the gun in front of him. Still smoking, the barrel gleamed with a rapidly-fading purple light.

“Go back...to the house, Hermia”, he whispered with difficulty.

“Renth, I...”

“Now.”

The young man’s icy gaze cut her short. On the verge of tears, Hermia turned around and ran to the cottage. The door slammed on her way in.

Once again, silence fell, heavier than ever. Slowly, all eyes left the door to go back to the young red-haired leader. Panting, wide-eyed, he was staring at nothing, his hand still clenched on the revolver. The weapon had proved its worth, but no one thought about that.

The smuggler leader had a wolfish smile. Sliding his rifle onto his back, he walked to the petrified young man. Trapped in his own world, he no longer looked like the confident and inflexible leader who had examined carefully the offered weapons. While he brushed tensely at the horrible scar on his right cheek, his left shoulder was twitching violently.

 

“Nice shot, buddy. You may look like a hillbilly, but your ability to shoot a moving target, your detachment, your eyes when you pull the trigger: everything betrays you.”

Seeing that their leader was in no state to defend himself, or even to think about it, the other peasants wanted to step in. With one glare, the smuggler stopped them right in their tracks.

“And this terror filling your eyes when you see one of these monsters,” he carried on, “Speaks volumes. Makes for a funny farmer.”

The smuggler was now right in front of the entranced young man. As quick as lightning, he grabbed his collar and pulled it to bare his still-twitching shoulder. At the base of his neck, the flesh bore an impressive hole, torn and swollen.

“Too far from the carotid...probably a Level E in a hurry. Hey, you must have fucking struggled, to make it take a whole bite off you!”

A hand flew to his wrist and squeezed it so hard that he struggled and winced in pain. Taking his eyes of the horrible scar – he even thought he could make out vague marks of fangs – he watched the glaring young man come back to his senses: his blue pupils seemed to throw daggers.

“I was an apprentice gunsmith when I got drafted. I watched the guys going to the front and I dreamt of fighting alongside them. My company was ambushed, I got hurt, and one guy went crazy seeing my blood. He bit where he could. End of story.”

“Well, what do you know... Did you know that vampires existed back then?”

He didn’t get an answer, and he probably didn’t expect one. The two leaders stared at each other for a few lingering seconds, then the red-haired man eased his grip, enough for his adversary to break free. He took a purse at his belt and threw it at the smuggler’s feet, who still smiled a sly, mocking smile.

“Here’s the payment we agreed upon. Now get out of here, hunter.”

 

.

.

 

The barn was plunged in darkness. Through the high openings and a few cracks between the planks of the walls, the light seeped in; distinct golden streaks, inside which countless specks of dust were slowly swirling. Under one of the golden rays, on an otherwise empty workbench, a crate was waiting, still covered with melting snow.

Slowly, carefully, he took the revolvers out of the crate one by one. He checked the mechanisms of each one, noted the smallest default when he loaded them with the bullets from the other crate. Then he unloaded them, put back the weapon and the bullets on his left, to give them to his men later.

Since light firearms had always been his speciality, it had been decided that he would keep the handguns. Frost, the village’s blacksmith, had ended up with the crate of blades, to study their craftsmanship and try to reproduce the silver-based alloy of the blades. As for the gamekeepers, they took the rifles and other long-distance weaponry to test their efficiency and recoil.

In a steady, almost-unconscious gesture, Renth loaded the revolver previously waiting in the crate amongst a layer of straw. The sound of the barrel awoke memories in him, and he couldn’t say if they were exciting or terrifying.

With his breath quivering, but with inscrutable eyes, he raised his weapon with two hands, pointing at an imaginary enemy in the darkness of the barn. He shivered, but not because of the icy handle of the weapon. An ache tingled in his injured shoulder, until it turned into unbearable blades of pain. With a grunt, he put down his weapon and massaged his shoulder while trying to keep those horrible memories at bay.

Reminiscences invoked by the vision of this child bursting into a cloud of sand.

This child who looked at him with red eyes.

Fear. Pain. Panic. Betrayal. Because the one who, long ago, took advantage of his wound to pin him to the ground, the one who grabbed him with a clawed hand, leaving him with a horrible scar on his cheek, the one who, mindless to his cries, sank his teeth into his flesh and sucked, mercilessly, his blood already pouring...

This one had been one of his closest friends, a comrade in arms and in war. Someone he trusted completely, for whom he would have given his own life.

And this friend tried to kill him, in the most vile, cowardly, monstrous way. In Renth’s memories, his attacker’s blazing red eyes would stay carved forever...

He gagged. His shoulder was aching again. Dizziness caught him, and he ran stumbling to a trough, pumped some water and splashed his face. The icy bite of the liquid brought him back to his senses, and the numbness of his skin spread slowly to his troubled mind, freezing his memory and clearing his thoughts. Yet the truth still remained, sharp and intolerable, while he spat some bile, disgusted and shaking.

He was a broken man. At thirty years old, he should have shone with his still-great strength and his experience of war. Yet he was shaking at the mere memory of fangs digging through his skin, of his blood flowing into a greedy mouth. He was but the shadow of a dream of glory. Discharged from the army because of his infirmity, he was sent back to his village with a hefty disability pension. An implicit way to buy his silence and to keep him away from civilization.

And all the hatred he felt toward his decay, toward himself and his fate, he aimed it toward those vampire monsters, hideous and inhuman creatures who at last, years after his own trauma, saw their existence revealed to the world. They were going to pay, for all these centuries of secret murders and covered-up brutality, during which they remained a legend, to better exploit the human race. As one exploits cows meant for the slaughterhouse.

But now, the “cows” were going to fight back. And for this, Renth of Neidchmart county didn’t wait for the government greenlight – a blurry notion for those like him living in the middle of mountains, far from everywhere. Ever since the “Revelation day”, as the historians already called it, clandestine networks had formed, recruiting every one, former military or not, anyone who wanted to defend their family. Reluctantly, but since he was a veteran of the army, and because of what he went through, Renth ended up at the head of the resistance group of his county, Neidchmart...

Panting, his faced streaked by cold water but his mind finally clear, Renth stood up and turned over, dead set on finishing his inventory. He was wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve when he froze, wide-eyed. His fingers tensed on the cross of his weapon, as he aimed it toward the enemy.

He blinked, and there was nothing. Speechless, he raised the revolver again and scanned the darkened barn. But he was alone. Doubt and panic seized him: was he going insane? Was the red-eyed silhouette he just glimpsed nothing but a hallucination?

He ran to the workbench next to which, he swore, had stood mere seconds ago, the tall shape of a man in a long coat. His blood froze when he remembered those blazing ruby eyes looking at him from over his high collar...

“Renth?”

He turned away, pointing the revolver toward the voice. In the door frame was a young woman, small unmoving silhouette contrasting with the white snow from outside. She didn’t step back when she saw the weapon pointed at her. Only her green eyes moved, surprised then worried, staring at the young red-haired man.

“Sorry, I... I didn’t mean to startle you...”

He blinked and shook his head to get his thoughts back together. Noticing how ragged his breath was, he tried to calm it.

“Hermia”, he sighed, his voice even at last.

He would rather die than worry her even more...

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

He talked without thinking, and cursed himself for it: he was certain now that no enemy was creeping around; he would have felt it. The form he saw in the darkness was nothing but a hallucination born from his memories and chronic fatigue.

Under his piercing stare, the stunning green eyes looked down guiltily. She raised a hand, as if to dust her clothes, then stilled again.

“Yes, I... I’m fine.”

He remembered at last to lower his weapon, and breathed more freely. She thought he was talking about the previous execution.

“Renth, I wanted to...”

She stepped in the thick darkness of the barn. She seemed to hesitate, looking for words, dead set on not meeting his gaze.

“I wanted to apologize. I know I shouldn’t have come outside. But the screams of that child were blood-curling, and he looked so...so normal, so harmless! I thought you were going to shoot him just to try the new weapons! In the moment, I totally forgot that you can’t kill humans with anti-vampire weapons.”

At last she raised her head. In the morning rays, her emerald irises shone, bright and piercing and were, right now, imploring.

“I... I panicked. Forgive me...”

As always, just one look from Hermia was enough to soothe his most violent anger or desperate anguish. Wordlessly, with a faint smile, he opened his arms and she ran to him. With a relieved sigh, she put her head on his right shoulder, not because she was disgusted or afraid of the left – she would have given everything to heal this wound – but because she knew it was still extremely sensitive, and that even one touch could make her husband suffer badly.

“I was afraid, too,” he whispered in her ear. “When I saw you running toward us...”

She didn’t finish her sentence. The fear pearling through it was enough.

“But what matters most is that everything ended well,” he concluded, holding her a little tighter.

Hermia hugged him back, before pulling away from him to look him in the eyes. She nodded gravely.

“Yes... Everything went well.”

As they had known each other since childhood, Renth saw immediately the twinge of disappointment in his lover’s eyes, and he guessed its reason. But the group had debated at length to determine if a woman should attend the deal: the smugglers might not have taken them seriously, not to mention the fact that things might have gone south.

They were fewer than the men, but several Neidchmart women had joined their resistance group. If Renth was one of its leaders, Hermia, his partner, was in a way his right-hand woman. Under her stunning looks and fragile appearance, she was a brave, resourceful young woman. Her temperance and intelligence had often shown better results than her companion’s recklessness, so he always told her about the latest coming and goings of the Resistance.

Hermia’s previous mistake had only been caused by the fact that she never had thought she might one day shoot a child – a vampire, yes, but still only a child. A mistake she swore to never make again.

She pulled up her sleeves.

“Can I see them?”

Renth gave her the revolver. Her seemingly frail hands received the weapon without hesitation, and the young woman studied the object in detail. With a soft smile, Renth looked at her manipulating, disassembling, cleaning, putting the small revolver back together, while she made some remarks about the weapon’s conception.

It was Hermia’s own father, a gunsmith without a son, who taught everything to his only apprentice, Renth. But during all these years, Hermia would rather listen to talks about rifles and battles rather than playing with dolls, practising shooting instead of embroidering or cooking...which explained why she was so at ease around such deadly instruments.

“When you shot,” she asked after a small silence, absorbed in her task, “Did you feel a difference?”

“Less recoil. Now that I think about it, it was weird...almost as if there hadn’t been any physical shot. Probably because of this runic “magic”.”

The young woman looked at him, both worried and disappointed.

“We will never be able to recreate such weapons, will we?”

“I’m afraid not. We’ll have to deal with those smugglers again, when the time comes.”

Renth’s face darkened.

“Fallen hunters...we knew about their sordid reputation even here, and it didn’t seem to faze them.”

Hermia put down the loaded, reassembled gun.

“Bastards and leeches, you mean,” she added in a detached tone contrasting with her words. “Caging a child, even if he’s a vampire, even if he’s crazy; it’s inhuman. But they’re our only chance to get acceptable weaponry. From now on, we’ll have to try not to fight with them. Today was already tense...”

She leaned on the other weapons while talking, then she suddenly quieted. Busy re-examining a faulty gun, Renth didn’t notice her silence right away.

“Renth?”

When he turned his head, she was taking out another weapon from the straw. It looked much heavier. The object shone briefly in a ray of light while she put it carefully on the workbench.

“It’s one of the best alloys there is,” she whispered with astonishment. “Steel...and maybe silver. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

The gun looked nothing like the other smaller, black weapons. It was bigger, streamlined. Renth looked at the weapon wordlessly, filled with a curious feeling. Hermia took out of the crate two boxes with foreign inscriptions. They bore the same seal as the cross of the outstanding gun.

“And here are the assorted ammunitions...that’s weird, the seal looks nothing like the others. And the bullets are also very different.”

Renth studied the bullet Hermia put in his hand. Longer and thicker, engraved with strange sigils, it shone with a flawless platinum glint. Just like the weapon it belonged to.

“Renth, I’m no expert,” whispered Hermia, stunned, “But apart from the cartridge, I think it’s... it’s pure silver..."

She looked at him, bewildered.

“We never asked for such a thing! You... you think it’s a... _gift_ from them?” she asked with astonishment.

Without answering, Renth took the gun, weighted it up.

“It’s loaded,” he whispered after a quick check.

He hesitated, then seized the grip in his right hand and cocked the gun. Perfectly oiled, it gave a chilling, almost provocative sound. He looked up and, seeing an empty crate on a shelf, at the other side of the barn, he lifted his arm, aimed, and shot. The detonation rang in the still air of the barn while the crate was blown to smithereens. A low hissing sound was heard as a purple seal formed around the impact, slowly turning and unfurling its magic in ethereal and threatening spirals.

The two remained speechless until the seal faded away. Renth looked critically at the strange gun. His shoulder was aching again, but he was so puzzled he barely noticed it.

“Do you want to try? There’re more bullets than we need for this one.”

Beside him, Hermia had returned to studying the revolvers still in the crate. She froze, as if struck by lightning. Why was she hesitating, she who looked too enthralled by this gun and its bewitched bullets of pure silver? She was a markswoman after all.

But she shook her head.

“No. I... I think it’s meant for you. This weapon, it...”

She looked at him with uncertainty. In her eyes, a kind of reverent fear gleamed.

“It was made for a leader. I can feel it. For someone like you.”

Renth stayed dumbfounded as they stared at each other, until she lowered her eyes again and focused on her task.

“It will be time soon,” she whispered after a long silence. “We have to go to the village. We’ll finish inventory after the execution.”

Renth nodded, and with a kind smile – as if nothing had happened – Hermia left the barn quickly. Deep in thoughts, Renth studied the gun once again, his shoulder aching, not knowing what to think of it. On a hunch, he grabbed a box of ammunition and placed it in his satchel. Then he was about to put the weapon inside...

But stopped for one last time, to brush, with a curious finger, the only inscription on the pistol with a meaning to him, and thought it to be the name of the weapon.

_Bloody Rose._

 

.

.

 

.

 

He had always hated Kaname Kuran. A purely visceral hate, at first sight. Mixing with him through the years did nothing but strengthen his revulsion, and he learnt to be wary of his detached looks, his innate sense of conspiracy, betraying the fact that the Pureblood saw life as nothing but a game of chess.

While they both attended Cross Academy, the Pureblood acted as though, to achieve something, you just needed to position the pawns at the right place, at the right moment...the pawns being, of course, living beings, humans and vampires alike. The latter, chosen for their abilities or temperament, were almost always oblivious of their roles, fated to be sacrificed for a greater cause.

And yet, just this once, he had to give this to the late vampire: such a perception of existence was, in itself, an interesting idea. While cruel and willingly indifferent, it allowed one to focus only on the essential.

The crowd was dense on this late winter morning. People in warm clothes hurried and pushed to better see. Among all these humans, most of them farmers, labourers or craftsmen, he felt like a wolf among sweet, well-behaved sheep. With one hand, he could have grabbed one. In one gesture, he could have slashed the throats of half a dozen. The call of blood was like a sweet song to his ears, oblivious to anything else, a painful, burning pang of hunger. He couldn’t stand holding his fangs anymore, and, deep down, he feared that one of those “sheep” would notice that he couldn’t stop running his tongue on his oversized canines. Even if he kept his mouth tightly shut, he doubted it would be enough.

But all these people were far too captivated by what was happening on the scaffold to take notice of him. He, himself, was trapped in some kind of trance, so blinding, so delicious, that being close to so many living, mouth-watering bodies was somehow bearable. Numb, his soul awaiting the moment, he did as everyone else did: he watched, holding his breath.

The man on the platform finally finished his speech, and everyone cheered. Silent and impassive in the vibrant crowd, he watched the red-haired man step away to allow the “show” to begin. This Renth...his pawn. Soon, he could act, and he knew the human wouldn’t hesitate to stop him. After a few minutes of observation, he already knew who this man was, all his weaknesses, everything that would make him draw and fire in time.

Perfectly composed, he studied the horrible scar on the man’s cheek, and the one on his shoulder that, for the occasion, he had partially uncovered. This appalling bite mark, this whole missing chunk of flesh. The very proof of the savagery of these “others”, a reminder that the crowd could look upon as they pleased, with both disgust and fascination.

He took his eyes off Renth and turned his head slowly toward a young woman, also lost in the crowd. Her green eyes were fixed on the red-haired man. He knew she would be willing to die for her husband. And he for her, thought the vampire with a bitter smile.

But no one would die today. No one human, at least.

A sole drum started its ominous, monochord march. The crowd divided spontaneously to make way for a man in chains, surrounded by two guards. They pulled the unfortunate captive onto the platform unceremoniously, before letting him fall to his knees under the weight of his own chains. He looked sick, exhausted, and his dirty clothes, as well as his grime-covered hair, showed how long he had remained in prison.

“Mercy! You’re making a mistake!”

With panic in his hazelnut eyes, the man seemed to look for help in the surrounding oppressive crowd. But he met nothing but hateful faces, full of savagery, eager for vengeance. Some insults flew by, only strengthening the silence once they were pronounced.

The chained man looked finally upon Renth, who, his fists on his hips, was looming over him.

“Mister Renth, I beg you...”

But despite his pitiful condition and his raspy voice, the condemned man didn’t make Renth flinch. Without taking his icy eyes off him, he pulled up his sleeve, took out a small knife and, in front of everybody, cut his forearm. He then clenched his fist; his blood oozed, falling in red drops at the condemned man’s feet.

The man started to quake furiously. When he raised his head, his irises had taken on a crimson hue, even more shocking than the colour of the spilled blood. Oversized canines deformed his mouth. In a snarl, he got up and tried to jump on the injured man, despite his chains. The crowd gasped in terror. Indifferent, Renth threw him to the ground with a right hook, and looked, emotionless, as the wardens threw themselves at the prisoner to keep him still.

The young red-haired leader let the condemned man’s snarls speak for themselves while he bandaged his cut. Then he looked round at the speechless crowd. If there had been scepticism before, it wasn’t the case anymore. Renth took a deep breath; his voice rang out, powerful, as sharp as a cleaver.

“And this man thought he could take care of our children! Teach them how to read, how to count! But at what cost? **At what cost?** ”

His question rumbled over the silent square, full of anger. The crowd stayed speechless, paralysed. The intruder, the only one unfazed by this speech, looked again at Hermia: she was on the verge of tears.

Was she crying because one life, as impure as it was, was going to be sacrificed?

Or was she crying because she was the only one to know what her husband had gone through, to come to such ends, such words, such extremism?

The silence was incredibly heavy. Renth took a long, deep breath again. When he spoke, his voice was nothing but a whisper. But the crowd, hanging onto his every word, heard him all the same.

“I’m asking you: what does such a creature deserve?”

For the first time since everything began, Hermia gave up looking at her companion, and lowered her eyelids. Tears pearled on her face, while she whispered, without failing, her fist clenched.

“Death.”

Her whisper was repeated by the ones next to her, inspiring it to others.

“Death...”

“Death.”

“Death! **Death! DEATH!”**

Soon the whole crown was chanting for the immediate execution. Renth nodded and turned to a hooded man.

“Executioner, do your duty.”

He nodded silently. At his belt was a blade; its craft and refinement stood out in those Nordic, rural surroundings. In the crowd, the interloper guessed that it was an imported weapon. Many more like these had been flourishing on the black market these last few months. Made with cheap metal – a rumour said they were forged from pieces of weaponry belonging to dead or fallen hunters –, they seemed nevertheless tailored to injure the ones they referred to, with terror, as “bloodsuckers”. The intruder smiled wolfishly.

Proud, the “pawn” he had chosen walked to the end of the platform. Renth glanced at Hermia, lost in the crowd; the young woman looked back at him earnestly, mindless of the tears on her cheeks.

The crowd was still roaring. The executioner walked with a heavy step to the condemned man, tightly chained to the platform floor. Curled up on himself, he looked up at his to-be murderer with once again brown, begging eyes.

“Mercy! I can control myself...”

From under his hood, the executioner seemed to hesitate, and questioned wordlessly the young red-haired leader. Arms crossed on his chest, he just nodded.

So, the executioner unsheathed his blade slowly. The cries of the crowd amplified, angry, waiting for the bloody end. The executioner raised his weapon slowly, to properly behead the condemned vampire. Insults and clamours flew by, sharp, until the blade stilled, ready to fall. Immediately, there was crushing silence.

And then everything changed. Just as the shining blade was about to come down, a shadow cut through the crowd, leapt onto the platform and shoved the executioner down into the dust among his people, making them cry out in surprise.

The sabre swirled in the air before falling. An expert hand grabbed its guard at the exact moment when the crowd quieted, finally understanding that in one split second, fate had changed.

A new fate set by this stranger in a long dark coat, standing on the scaffold next to the condemned vampire.

When the chained man, as stunned as the others, saw the ruby eyes of the stranger, he lost all control: his pupils turned bright red, his fangs reappeared as he shouted:

“Brother! I beg you, help me!”

The stranger deigned to look down at him with his blazing eyes, then knelt and asked in the chained man’s ear:

“Would you rather die painlessly, or live as you are?”

The condemned man’s eyes widened.

“Live! Free me and I’ll run away, far away, where nobody knows me and I can drink at wi...”

“Wrong answer."

And without further ado, the man sank his fangs into his carotid.

Zero’s trance disappeared like a cloud in the wind. On his tongue, the victim’s blood was even fouler than any of his previous victims. In a titanic effort against his instincts, deaf to his new prey’s screams, Zero swallowed several mouthfuls. Even while his insides already wringing in pain, he forced himself to swallow the vile liquid...

...For, while nourishing, nothing was more despicable that the blood of a Level E.

Finally, he removed his fangs from the shivering, disgusting flesh and, still without hesitation, stood up to plunge the sabre into the Level E’s back. The blade, deadly sharp and under his weight, pierced the lung and the heart, and sank deep into the platform floor.

The screaming body disappeared in a whirlwind of grey sand. Panting, his lips covered in blood, Zero tried to come back to his senses, and to keep himself from immediately throwing up what he tried so hard to swallow.

Only a few seconds had passed between the moment when he stepped onto the scaffold and when he killed the Level E. In a daze, he heard the crowd screaming in terror, and the sound of running. Everyone fleeing before the new monster...

Well, no, not everyone, he realized with relief while, with eyes closed, kneeling down and leaning on the sabre, he felt the presence of about twenty persons. They circled him.

He gagged, but stopped the merciless nausea in time. The blood of the Level E started to dissolve in his veins, nourishing but corrosive because of his curse. His limbs were already stiffening with pain, his already-contaminated heart beat the rhythm of his suffering. But, breathing deeply, he stood up, one foot then the other, trying not to stagger. If he showed any weakness, they might try to capture him and to starve him before another public execution. Like his previous prey. If it happened, his suffering would never end.

Not because he feared the execution; on the contrary, he would wish for it with all his being. He was worried about the time before the D day. Because sooner or later she would come for him...and all his efforts would have been in vain.

On the other hand, if he proved himself a vampire like they pictured them – wretched, sly, cruel even to their own species, in short: _out of control_ – he could be sure he would not see the sun set.

For this precise reason, to leave no room for doubt, he had even gone as far as to arm his pawn. Against his chest, the empty holster gave him a strange feeling of loneliness. But the time of hesitation was over, and his fate had been sealed as soon as he laid foot on this scaffold. Though it was raised today for someone else; it would also be his.

 

So, proud and detached, Zero Kiryu faced Renth. And he couldn’t help but grin when he saw that Renth was already aiming at him with the Bloody Rose. To be shot by his own weapon, some would have thought it to be shameful and humiliating... but to him, it was almost a favour. A favour given to him by a long-time friend.

Renth’s blue eyes widened even more when his enemy smiled, showing his long white canines, covered in fresh blood.

“You...it’s you I saw in the barn! What were you doing there? Trying to steal the only thing that could destroy you? Answer me!”

Zero stared at him in silence: a man’s imagination could do far more than explanations. Anyway, he was in no state to give them anymore. His throat, still wet with his previous victim’s blood, was unbearably scorching him.

“Answer before you die, vampire!”

Alone on the scaffold, facing his enemy, Renth was steaming with rage, but Zero also read in him an incommensurable fear. Even armed with the most powerful anti-vampire weapon he would ever possess; the poor human still didn’t dare to shoot his nightmares made flesh. Zero had considered this hesitation from the very beginning.

Just as he had hesitated against Shizuka Hio, his parents’ murderer, when he had had the opportunity to slaughter her.

Zero took a deep and hard breath. His head was feeling heavier. He didn’t have much time before falling at their feet...he had to end it, now.

From the platform, he looked down on the humans below, aiming at him and freezing when they saw his ruby-coloured eyes. He stopped on Hermia, and smirked: he had hoped that she would stay until the end, despite the fact that she was a woman, despite her anguish. Her bravery, or rather recklessness, made her look a bit like Yuuki, the Guardian from before...

Here he was, pondering on the past. It was time to end this.

“Hurry up, Renth...”

He didn’t recognize his own voice, raspy, sinister, just like his bloody fangs distorting his mouth in a revolting sneer.

“...Or you’ll lose everything you hold dear.”

His eyes settled back, cunning and threatening, on Renth. He let the man time to understand. A split second later, Renth blanched.

“...No…!”

Then, in a prodigious leap, Zero jumped from the platform, right on the one called Hermia.

The young defenceless woman cried out in surprise and terror while they both rolled in the grey snow. Gifted with every vampire’s inhuman strength – even as weakened as he was – Zero easily subjugated the lady, though she struggled with the ferocity of a tiger. He dragged her to a wall, and put his back to it. When he had his captive completely under control, her reluctant back against him, the others snapped out of their astonishment: they formed a half-circle, their weapons aimed at the strange couple formed of Zero and his hostage. Renth was about to jump from the platform when he froze, thunderstruck, his face full of terror.

The vampire had torn Hermia’s thick coat as easily as if it was paper, baring her right shoulder. When she felt the monster’s ragged breath on her bare skin, she completely froze, panting.

“Hermia!” shouted Renth, powerless.

“This is the punishment for your hesitation,” growled Zero with difficulty, tortured by the delicious scent of his captive’s skin. “I got a glimpse of your talent earlier. At this distance, you won’t miss!”

“ _You can’t miss!”_ he thought in desperation.

“ **Shoot!”**

But Renth was paralysed, the Bloody Rose laying useless in his hand. What was he waiting for, dammit?

“Or would you like her to have the same scar as you? You’ll match!”

On edge, his sensory cells flared even more when, provocatively, greedily, he licked Hermia’s shoulder. She shivered in anguish, let out a strangled cry.

“Renth…!”

He raised his weapon, but his hands were shaking too much for him to properly aim. Zero was boiling with rage and impatience, his strength weakening with the poison running through his veins. For God’s sake, he had to shoot! So he could be free at last from this meaningless life!

Meaningless from the very beginning...all because of her...

“Shoot, let’s end it all…!”

His begging whisper got caught in his throat while his entire being inclined toward the Bloody Rose, so late in giving him the final blow. Only Hermia heard him, for she struggled even more, like an eel. Suddenly, in the half-circle of peasants, all eyes widened. And Renth screamed:

“Hermia, no!”

“Yes, let’s end it all, damn vampire!”

A shot rang in the air, and Hermia’s voice choked in her throat. With satisfaction, Zero felt the pain bursting his ribs, the burn devouring his insides. But the detonation wasn’t the Bloody Rose, still loaded.

Hermia’s body stiffened against him, then tore from his weakened grip with a moan. With blurred eyes, he saw her crawl to her people, who ran to her, protective. Renth was already beside her. In the span of a few seconds, he seemed to have aged ten years.

“Hermia!”

Deadly pale, sweating, the young woman kept her arms clenched on her belly. A small revolver was smoking in her hand, its barrel still shining with a dark purple. With little regard for her life, she had shot at point range, through her own body.

“...It’s...it’s fine,” she whispered while her companion held her tight. “It’s bearable...it’s already fading away.”

As if to confirm her words, the purple seal which had burnt her clothes at her abdomen quickly disappeared, leaving her flesh unscathed. She was human; the magic could only pass through her. Still a painful and harsh experience...

It was not the case for Zero, whose blood already tainted the snow in a scarlet stream, while the anti-vampire seal dug through his flesh. The pain was more excruciating than anything he could have imagined. But it already seemed to be going numb...

He was going to die, finally. He tried to smile, but his body, weakened by weeks of starvation, tortured by the curse, torn apart by Hermia’s bullet, wouldn’t obey him anymore.

A few meters from him, cuddled up in her companion’s arms, Hermia opened her eyes: her shining grey eyes glared at him spitefully, and yet with some kind of pity.

“Kill him, Renth,” she whispered. “Put an end to his misery…!”

At last the Bloody Rose was aimed, blazing in this snow, too blinding for his dying eyes. Renth clenched his teeth, but wasn’t shaking anymore.

“ **Fire!”**

Shots rang from everywhere. Six times in a deafening rush. He recognized the Bloody Rose’s detonations, emptying its magazine at last, to eliminate him. In his state, just one bullet of this elite gun should have been enough to turn him to dust.

Zero closed his eyes, let numbness take over the pain, and unconsciousness throw a dark veil on him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate us? Yes you do.  
> We'll see you next week!


	6. Chapter Four : Deadly. - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry (not sorry) for last week's cliffhanger ;-p
> 
> Here we go. Once again, thanks a lot to ghostbunny for revising the chapter.
> 
> Have fun...!

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Vertigo. A body being lifted up. A foreign, ragged breath.

A delicious aroma slides between his lips. He savours it, unsure what to do with it. When a distant, familiar voice, orders him to swallow, he does it without hesitation.

Unconsciousness again.

 

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Cold. Night. Snow. A door opening on a gentle light.

“...Lady Yuuki!”

An astonished tone. Light everywhere. Warmth. Panicked words, too fast for his slowed-down mind to catch. Snippet of voices. Orders, given in a weak but authoritarian tone.

“...Do as I say...”

 

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Warm. Soft. Sheets. Covers.

Too warm. Fever?

A hand brushes his forehead. Delicious smell of flesh, unknown blood flowing and beating under the skin.

Hungry. Thirsty.

The hand, grabbed; fangs awaiting. But the hand flicks him away like an insect.

“In your dreams, you nasty hunter...”

Steps walking away.

“Lady Yuuki? He’s awake.”

A breath.

“Yes.”

A stumbling step. Someone sits next to him. A cutting sound. Smell of blood. He searches for it, grabs it. A bloody wrist. He licks, sucks carefully. His strength comes back, and his wounds close a bit more. Then exhaustion becomes unbearable again.

He lets go of the wrist. The person leaves. Suddenly he remembers he has eyes, tries to open them, but everything is white, light, pain. In tears, he tries to follow the blurry form walking away.

The other person waits at the bedroom door, mute. The voice of the one who just gave him blood is weak, but cold. Almost cutting.

“It’s fine... he’s out of the woods.”

The second voice is stronger and yet more hesitant. Contrite.

“Do you want me to go, Lady Yuuki?”

“Do as you please. This is your home, after all.”

“Then I’ll stay... a bit longer. Lord Kaname would have wanted it.”

His eyelids close against his will. Dark unconsciousness surrounds him again...

 

.

 

.

 

She was there. Laying on a couch, sound asleep. So pure, so innocent.

Her dark brown hair waving on her shoulder, cascading on the pillow.

Her small, unmoving hands, one under her cheek, the other grasped on the cover to keep it from falling.

Her long eyelashes throwing a slight shadow onto her skin. Her childish mouth half-open with soft, regular breaths.

She was there, like she was every day, beside him. By his bedside until he fell asleep, soothing and gentle when he had a nightmare, present and smiling when he opened his eyes the following morning.

The teenage boy got up from his bed and, for the first time, knelt next to her, careful not to wake her up. He was so happy, so grateful for her to be here, always here for him! And he was so sad, he was so afraid... that the day would come when he would hurt her. His willpower would disappear before the desire to pin her to the floor and drink, relentlessly, life itself from her slender neck.

What would happen then? Would he be able to stop himself in time? Would the terror he would read in her panicked eyes be enough to stop him in his destructive madness?

And more importantly...how would she react, faced with this horrible truth? What would she say, she who had her own – dreadful – experience of vampires?

She would run away, so far away from him...and he would understand.

And he would wake up alone in the following days. Without her, without her smile, her child-like gentleness to help him keep his nightmares and dark thoughts at bay.

He would rather die... rather die than be alone again. Rather die than hurt her.

His hesitant hand moved a lock of mahogany hair falling on her face, and he appreciated its silkiness while he put it behind her ear. The cover slid, revealing her neck and shoulders. His eyes widened. His hand, slowly, moved, stroked her neck...

...And closed around the beating flesh. Awake, she suddenly opened her eyes. An insidious cold crept inside him while she stared at him with her blood-red eyes. But he didn’t loosen his deadly grip on the neck of the child turned woman. A flow of macabre and horrible memories came back to him, and at last he remembered how much she had hurt him.

The chains she put on him. Oh, he hated her so much for this! At least as much as he hated Shizuka, who murdered his parents and took his brother away.

Feeling nauseous, he squeezed, squeezed again to smother her. Even if she didn’t flinch, still looking at him with her cold, red pupils, he persisted.

The only way was to kill her!

Her pale lips moved then, and she whispered:

“No, Zero. I am your only solution.”

And then he saw the blood. As if a floodgate had opened, the vital fluid oozed from the drenched cover, soaking the delicate velvet of the couch, dripping in scarlet drops on the floor.

Resentment filled him, along with horror. Suddenly he had a horrible feeling: she had done something against his will, once more. She had acted to thwart his plans again, put herself in his way. This time, at her own risk.

And while he still squeezed her neck, he noticed that he too was bleeding, his now adult body pierced by bullets. The crimson essence flowed on his clothes, spreading on the cold floor, blending with his enemy’s blood.

He understood that with each minute, their bond was strengthening. With every second, their blood mixed to create one fluid mass. One last unbreakable chain, a thread that could not come undone.

He saw her close her eyes, a bloody tear falling from her eyelids. Out of rage and despair, he tried to scream, but could only moan weakly.

And then everything disappeared. The neck under his hand, the person lying on the couch, blood on the pillow and the wooden floor. The furniture moved away soundlessly, in a dizzying slide. His dampened sheets trapped him again, and at last his prostrate body became once more shivering, weak, sick.

Panting, with glassy eyes, he watched the couch at the other end of the room, the abandoned blanket, the pillows still sunken from a previous presence. His stomach in a knot, his heart pounding in his chest, he took his eyes off the empty couch, devoid of blood, and understood that it had only been a nightmare.

Exhausted, he didn’t have time to tell himself that he should stay awake to stop having such dreams; he had already fallen back into a deep slumber.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Lady Yuuki?”

The vampire aristocrat bowed deeply. She waited a few seconds for the woman in front of the window to look at her before pursuing in the same equal tone:

“Please allow me to depart, Lady Yuuki. My help is superfluous now, and I feel my very presence is becoming a burden to you. I leave you the manor and a few of my help: they have all my trust, and they won’t gossip, I vouch for them.”

The vampire lady bowed again, and her superior nodded proudly. Yuuki’s deep mahogany eyes watched her companion pick up her small travel bag at her feet and check its contents.

“Thank you... for your help.”

The other froze for a second, as if not knowing how to act, then went back to her task, before closing her suitcase. At last she met the Pureblood’s eyes, not trying to hide her bitterness:

“I did this for you, Lady Yuuki...and for Lord Kaname.”

“I know. You have always loved him.”

The Pureblood’s voice, until then blank, became icy as she peered outside.

“But never mind. It didn’t change a thing.”

The Aristocrat closed her eyes, her beautiful face full of sorrow and remorse, before regaining her usual composure. She then glanced at a door, ajar at the end of the boudoir they were standing in. Worry, and blazing anger, appeared on her perfect features.

“Forgive me, Lady Yuuki, but...to choose him? He’s not of our kind! And moreover, he’s a hunter! Was it really the best way?”

The Pureblood stared at her wordlessly. Slowly, she put her hand to her amber pendant where the trapped crystal was gleaming. At this sight, the other vampire’s eyes narrowed with sorrow.

“He died. Before my eyes, while he should have been under your protection. But you and the others weren’t there.”

The Aristocrat flinched before her superior; in her eyes, all traces of rebellion disappeared, washed away by the Pureblood’s icy and accusing glare.

“I know that I can trust him precisely because he’s not one of us. It was the only way.”

Despite her charm and good manners, the Aristocrat seemed to want to disappear. She didn’t try to apologize: she had done so enough already. And it wouldn’t have changed anything.

In agony, she grabbed her suitcase and bowed.

“My house is yours...you can rest here as long as you want. I will not tell anyone about your coming.”

“I hope so. Farewell.”

Coldly sent away, the vampiress walked to the door, while the Pureblood was lost in contemplation of the snow outside. The slender, perfectly manicured hand of the Aristocrat stilled on the doorknob. A question had been burning her lips since Yuuki’s return, and even if she knew what it could cost her, she couldn’t help herself.

“Lady Yuuki...have you told him about...about what you discussed with me, a few months ago?”

The Pureblood facing of the window had closed her eyes over the snow-covered landscape; she opened them again suddenly.

“No. No one knew but you...Not even Kaname. I never had the occasion to tell him.”

Unconsciously, her hand gestured vaguely, before falling to her side, fist clenched. Her face hardened, and when she turned toward her vassal again, her eyes seemed to throw daggers.

“Never mention this again, Ruka.”

Ruka Souen shivered. She bid her farewell with respect and left the room quickly, in silence. The Pureblood waited several minutes for her aura to completely disappear from the house.

Then, when everything was calm and still, Yuuki let herself fall to her knees, allowed herself a pained sigh. Leaning against the wall, she blinked, already fighting against the exhaustion she felt, which she had kept hidden, out of pride, in front of the other vampire. Though she had had no choice but to find shelter while she healed from her wounds, and though Ruka Souen had welcomed her on one of her estates, Yuuki still didn’t know if she could really trust her.

She got up painfully, fought back a moan while she put a clenched hand on her ribs. Alone, she didn’t have to keep up the composure her kind were expected to show. Was she so weak, for her wounds to take so long to heal? Would Kaname, in this situation, have found himself in such a state?

Probably not, for her brother and lover would have tried to find blood to heal himself. _Real blood..._

She briefly closed her eyes, heavy-hearted: she didn’t want to think about him. Not now. Or she would lose control. Of her tears and her bloodlust. For the blood of the man she had loved.

Once you tasted your soulmate’s essence...you couldn’t forget it.

She glanced at the glass carafe on the nearby table, filled with a red liquid, still reeling with a somewhat artificial scent. She turned her head, disgusted, and left the boudoir by the other door, left ajar.

Staggering a bit, she remained at the doorframe, almost reluctant to enter the small room. A fire was burning in the hearth. The window was barred, but slightly open, letting in a bit of fresh air from the snowy outdoors. One felt at ease in this room, where Zero had been bedded for the last two days.

His weakened body laid under soft and thick covers, his head on a feather pillow. He was sleeping soundly, looking almost serene. She hesitated again, then decided not to go near him. Her presence could wake him up, and he would be thirsty again. For now, she didn’t feel strong enough to answer this request.

So she walked to the opposite side of the room, sat on the couch, arranged the few pillows. Since the very first day, Ruka, who let her have her country house so easily, had a proper bed set for her, in a room upstairs. But Yuuki never laid on it for one moment.

Mindful of her wounds, she lay on the couch, shamelessly curled up under the cover her former host brought her. She welcomed the warmth of the fire, the cool and gentle air blowing from the window, the softness of the cover. She closed her eyes. For the first time since she’d set foot in this great house, she felt good, and even safe. Was it because she was alone at last?

Alone...with him?

She looked at Zero thoughtfully from between her eyelashes. At her flank, Yuuki still felt the pounding pain, the harsh burn in her aching body. But she noticed with surprise that she suffered less in his presence. She finally closed her eyelids, soothed.

Tears in her eyes – from exhaustion, she thought – she felt herself slip toward the nebulous world preceding sleep, a state replacing rest for any healthy vampire-born. This world where everything from the past day comes back to you, chaotic. This world where you think and mull and regret. This world where sometimes you refuse what you accepted and weep for what you turned away.

 

Zero thought he was the only one to suffer from their new bond. He was wrong. On a different level, in a different way, their separation had been as harsh to her as it had been to him. She noticed it now that they were reunited...

Because there was this strange feeling of emptiness, which disappeared once Zero was found. An unknown, dormant void, deep and unfathomable...a void she didn’t want to feel again at any cost. She simply wasn’t strong enough.

And this was the reason why a Pureblood chose the discomfort of a couch, with a few pitiful pillows, over a great four-poster bed made for her upstairs.

Simply to be near him. Like before. Way before.

Like when they were young...

Like when he first appeared in her life...

_Zero…_

 

.

 

.

 

.

Yori flinched and looked at what she wrote, her eyes wide open in the darkness. Since when was her head nodding, on the verge of sleep?

With shaking hands, she dropped her pen and softly blew on her fingers, tensed by the effort, cold after her long immobility. When she started to write, the afternoon was just beginning, and the sun was kissing her “sanctuary” with a gentle light. She now looked up to the windows, too high to show more than an ink-coloured sky. She felt for her desk lamp, and a warm light shone over the books piling up, her notebooks, sketchbooks, and other paper sheets on her writing desk. She narrowed her eyes, blinded by the light.

There was a strange, almost crushing silence. With surprise, she noticed that no memory was coming to her. In her head, usually full of pictures, sounds and perceptions, it was as if a maddening crowd suddenly had disappeared into thin air.

To her own surprise, she almost felt...alone. Abandoned.

Staggering, she stood up from her desk to stretch herself, exercised her numb muscles. She took a deep breath, and noticed she hadn’t eaten...since when, by the way? This morning? Yesterday night?

Worried, she went to put away what she had just written, and looked at the shaky handwriting, less polished than it had been before she’d started falling asleep, like Yuuki in her memory. The last words awoke something of an echo in her, and she frowned, curious.

_Zero…?_

She left her desk and, mechanically, almost floating, she walked to the corner of the room where, years ago, she had piled up the first volumes of the memories she wrote. Deep in thoughts, she looked upon the tomes, grabbed a few of them and perused through them absent-mindedly before putting them back.

At last she found the one she wanted. With a smile, she browsed the pages covered in her precise handwriting, with a few sketches of young familiar faces, of an old forgotten school.

Her finger stopped at a precise spot, and a lump formed in her throat while, called out by the first words, the memory she wanted to relive rose from its place in her mind. A small brown-haired girl appeared out of darkness, reached out to another unseen person. Despite the worry and sadness the girl felt, her hazelnut eyes where gleaming with warmth and attention.

Cradling the volume, Yori returned to her desk to use the light of the lamp. Shivering, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and, without paying attention to her own hunger, began to read.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

.

 

Friends?

Brother and sister?

Something more…?

Their bond had always been special. When did it all begin?

She couldn’t say for sure. After all, they shared many a look, brushed past each other many times far before it began...

Of course, there had been the first sight. The one on the threshold, while Kaien Kurosu, her adoptive father, said “His parents are dead. He’s going to live with us from now on.”

There had been the first touch. When she led him, unsure how to act, to the bathroom.

These first contacts had no effect, at least on him. She on the other hand felt so ill at ease that, to this day, she still wondered what had made her stay, and try to resurrect what was hiding behind his empty expressions.

To try to give him back only a sliver of humanity, a little emotion.

Yes, when did it start? She who was often so shy around strangers; from where did her will to help this one come, despite his indifference, his muteness?

When she had started to wipe off the blood marbling his skin?

When she ran water over his cold, yet unharmed body?

When she tried to arrange a room as best as she could, so he could rest?

No.

No, none of those things. What she did, her welcome, her comforting words, it had been out of politeness, then pity. As a girl with a dark and forgotten past, she had an idea of life’s hardships, and what you could do to soothe the pain.

And this was why, when she saw the very image of Misfortune, in this silhouette barely taller than her, she had stepped in and took him under her wing.

It had been nothing but hesitation, the fear of doing wrong, of causing harm. The bath, the clean clothes, the warm room, the tucked bed, the night-light. Everything had seemed so futile once done, her efforts useless before his wall of indifference.

During the hour she devoted to him with attentiveness, the eleven-year-old slowly accepted the fact that nothing mattered to him. That if she had left him alone, still covered in blood, he wouldn’t have flinched.

Why did she continue, then? Later, as an adult, her clear conscience would have said “because that’s what it is to do good”. Back then, she couldn't answer. This boy’s eyes looked so empty, his very presence so diaphanous that he looked about to fade away from reality. His consciousness seemed detached from the rest of the world, dying, already dead. He was but a lifeless body, a soulless doll. How then could you care about him?

And yet, a few hours later, she had sworn to herself to never let him down. That the entire world, himself included, could league against her, but she would never leave him to his sad fate.

...When did it all begin? It was obvious.

It had been the short, flickering seconds when the wall of indifference cracked, where from behind his body’s stillness, she glimpsed life, pain, emotion.

As she turned away after tucking him in, resigned to letting him rest, she felt something tugging at her back. A hand which, suddenly, was clinging at her sweater and wasn’t letting go. She turned back, surprised.

Time stood still, for one second. As if they were touching for the first time. As if they, now, were seeing each other for the first time.

Because at last, it wasn’t her who looked for his gaze, but him. Because at last, he didn’t simply let her approach, but made a gesture toward her.

In a heartbeat, her monologue of actions and words stopped being a one-way relationship, and took on a myriad of new facets.

Later, she thought it ridiculous, but it was only in this instant that she noticed his eye colour, unique and troubling. The deep, pure purple, nuanced with lights and shadows, like the most beautiful of amethysts.

In the gleam of his irises, at last opened to the world, she saw despair in all its glory, panic in all its violence. In a shimmering of injured lights, she saw terror, anguish, mental and physical suffering and (above all!) the mute “why”; this question every traumatized being repeats over and over. With one look, he screamed his misery, begged her to stay.

How could she think of abandoning him?

So, without a word, without a smile, she knelt beside the bed he was tucked into. Fascinated by his gaze, touched at her core by his suffering, she only nodded. Shyly, she raised a hand toward him. She hadn’t even finished her gesture before the amethyst eyes closed again on that vast tortured mind, before the begging hand fell once more. Gently, she brushed his cool temple, his strange grey hair, still damp from being cleansed of the blood.

Slowly, he had closed his eyes. And she watched over him until she fell asleep herself, her head on her crossed arms, her hand slid inside his.

Back then, neither one of them thought about what their tomorrows would be.

.

 

.

 

__

 

.

 

.

When he opened his eyes, he thought he had gone back to one of those mornings from the end of his childhood. Those strange mornings when, his mind still full of dreams, he found his brother’s warmth beside him. Those mornings when he could almost smell the scent of fresh coffee and warm bread from the kitchen, when the morning light, piercing through the drapes, gave a grey shine to his room.

Those mornings when he looked for all the small things that had built his childhood, before remembering that they were no more. That his parents had been murdered. That his brother had betrayed him. That he himself was no longer human, but not a vampire yet. A prisoner on death row.

Yes, this morning, when he opened his eyes slowly, he felt the same veiled uncertainty, the same lack of memories. With the feeling that something had happened. The day before, a week ago? Years ago? He couldn’t tell.

His dull amethyst eyes lingered on the unknown window on his right. He could only see a patch of grey sky. The opened panel let in a small gush of wind, the light drapes floating gently.

“Good morning.”

The voice was harmonious, if a bit hesitant. It was so small and out of place that he thought he might have imagined it. Tiredly, he turned his head on the pillow, stared in silence at the silhouette leaning against the door frame.

“May I come in?”

He looked at her a bit longer, his eyes inscrutable. In the secret of his soul, he felt this painful sensation of _déjà-vu_. Yuuki’s presence at his bedside, during this short but ineffable period following his parents’ murder. Today, nothing remained but a deep void before this familiar and disturbing presence...

Without a word, he went back to staring at the sky, framed by the slow dance of the drapes. She waited a moment, then decided to enter. Her silky clothes swished almost soundlessly with her every move. On her shoulders, her dark brown hair waved gently with the rhythm of her steps, a silky frame brushing her face and neck in a delicate touch. He could smell her indefinable fragrance: to compare her to the purest, freshest of roses would illustrate only a facet of her delicious perfume. Under her skin, in every one of her veins, arteries, her blood was discretely but persistently beating.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard. A myriad of details assaulted him without even looking at her: all his senses had come back, sharper than ever. His body was still weak, but was regaining some of his former strength. He wasn’t in pain and, at the same time, no numbness betrayed any advanced decay. It could only mean one thing, and his horrible doubt was reinforced.

In his semi-consciousness, he had let her feed him her blood. He had failed. Once again, she had beat him...

“You couldn’t fight anymore, Zero. You would have died.”

He remembered at last the shooting. The sound of a dozen detonations, the bullets piercing his body, the Bloody Rose singing, unmistakable, amidst the surrounding commotion.

He glared at her, resentful.

“Why did you save me?”

She stopped near the bed. In her mahogany eyes, there was nothing but calm and serenity.

“Why did you try to kill yourself?”

“You know perfectly why.”

“I could tell you the same thing, Zero.”

Her voice was emotionless once more. They looked at each other, and, seeing the unshakable neutrality in those amber eyes, he felt cold anger rise in him. How...how could she be so calm! So insensitive!

_Damn the Purebloods!_

Unmoved, Yuuki did not flinch under Zero’s blazing glare.

“You have to understand: now, I am...”

“My only solution,” Zero cut in with a sneer. “You’ve said it enough. Why bond me to you? What gave you the right?”

“You know it very well...”

With a tremendous effort, Zero used his elbows to push himself up into a sitting position. Staying still made had made the pain bearable, but now he had to bite back a moan, an arm around his bandaged chest. His amethyst eyes threw daggers at the emotionless Pureblood.

“Because you’re allegedly without allies, and I’m apparently the only one able to bring down someone who almost succeeded in slaughtering the entire Kuran family?”

“You killed my uncle Rido, something Kaname never could. You saved the entire Academy, and all the students who...”

“If I did it, it was only for you!”

Something flickered in Yuuki’s eyes at these words, but Zero couldn’t say if it was emotion, sadness, or mere surprise.

“For you, and for Kaname...but don’t fool yourself. If I killed that Kuran madman, it was to better bring you down myself, with my own hands. Kaname made me his ultimate weapon, and maybe he expected my reaction: when I had a glimpse of the power all his plotting had bestowed on me, I chose to kill every Pureblood who would stand in my way. And you were one of them.”

“And yet Zero, we saw each other, that day, five years ago...and I’m still alive.”

One last look, one last bite. A first and last kiss. This was what happened, what she was alluding to.

The hunter’s purple eyes blazed, and he chased away all those memories.

“I was half-mad myself, that day...I couldn’t do it. My vampire side couldn’t do it. As for the human who still existed, somewhere within me...he still couldn’t believe that the Yuuki he knew could have disappeared.”

His already raspy voice weakened again.

“Today, it’s over. You’re nothing but a memory for me.”

On these words, he turned his eyes away from her, looking at the white unknown landscape by the window, while anger burnt in him – along with his burgeoning hunger. For several long seconds, none of them moved nor talked. Then Yuuki sighed.

“We won’t go anywhere like this, Zero.”

She was a hundred times, a thousand times right. But to hear her say this unbearable truth, in this cold emotionless tone, only increased his anger tenfold.

“Accept it, once and for all.”

He clenched his teeth, noticing in doing so that his fangs had already started to lengthen. The vision of his nightmare, his own hand squeezing Yuuki’s neck, suddenly looked extremely tempting. But he did nothing, his fingers grasping his covers so hard he almost tore them apart.

“Never...”

She stepped toward him and, in a flash, he understood what she was about to do. She already pulled up her sleeve, exposing her slender wrist from which, during these past few half-conscious days, he had drunk without limit.

She wanted to make him bend with the most brutal, imperious order she could give him: her blood. A Pureblood’s, given freely.

A call from which no vampire could stay indifferent. To Zero, who was chained to it, it would be as powerful as rolling thunder, as violent as a storming ocean. From the moment she pierced the thin skin at her wrist, he knew he could not resist. The idea of being submitted to this temptation already lured the darkest and greediest depths of his vampire soul.

So the human that still lived inside him did the only thing he could, pathetic and desperate: with one gesture, he pushed her away.

Later, he couldn’t say if he did, indeed, hit her violently. Were his anger, and his returning strength enough to push her back?

Or was it she who was weak, suffering from a debilitating illness which, at the moment, left him speechless?

But beyond all these questions, small but crucial details remained, which were about to change everything – for one second, or all his life, he did not yet know.

How easy it had been for him to push away her feminine body, which until then had been graceful and intimidating. He’d driven her back as easily as one flicks away a fragile branch.

When he touched her, a shiver ran through the flesh he’d thought invincible and invulnerable. Her clear skin greying, in one split second.

Her stumble, on suddenly weak legs, the instinctive gesture she made toward her ribs. Her grimace of pain deforming her pure and until then perfect features.

But, more than that, her moan, barely audible, a slight sigh barely harsher than a normal breath, but a tell-tale sign of her pain.

And above all…! Her glare from under her brown hair, this glare full of hidden tears. The eyes of a wounded, ashamed beast, hurt in her body and in her steel-like mind.

For several long seconds, they looked at each other, he completely speechless, she panting in pain. Then she ran away.

And, left alone, Zero began to finally understand the desperate sacrifice made by his forgotten friend.

That if he, after six bullets were fired from the powerful Bloody Rose, was still alive, it was because someone else had diverted them – or took them in his stead.

And that someone, despite her terrible weakness, had kept giving him blood, in the hopes of healing the wounds from the other bullets she couldn’t spare him.

Such abnegation, such madness! Just to get help from him, the only vampire who was also a hunter. Their mutual stubbornness almost drove them both to their doom, and she was ready to do it again if necessary. Could he keep ignoring it?

As if to answer him, the gush of wind grew stronger between the drapes, and a pale ray of light pierced the room to a chest of drawers along the wall. An object shone briefly. Curious, Zero tried to understand.

What was it doing here, at hand’s reach, with its boxes of ammunition? The unerring companion of all his former executions...

As sharp, cold and deadly as the first day, the Bloody Rose was waiting.

.

 

.

.

 

_xxxxxxx_

 

.

 

.

 

.

“Yori?”

The room was dimly lit. He called her cautiously, knowing that he could only enter because she forgot to lock the door behind her. This room was her study, her “sanctuary”, and she insisted on being the only one to enter it. To each their secrets: he had been living with her for years, and understood this exigence very well.

As he got no answer, he stepped in slowly, expecting to see her to appear suddenly from behind a shelf. He felt her presence, but his sharp eyes and ears sensed nothing. Worried, he walked around a bookshelf full of old bound books and finally saw the desk. He saw with relief that she was asleep, her head on her crossed arms. Without a sound, he approached and looked at her dreamily. She who always seemed so serious and in charge of her emotions, sometimes even stern; she looked so ingenuous when she was asleep...

Her head resting on an open book, she shivered, nested her face a bit deeper in the warmth of her crossed arms. He thought about taking off his own vest to cover her, and then thought otherwise, knowing that he shouldn’t be here without her accord. She hated the possibility that her work could be read by someone else before its total completion: even if she trusted him, she would surely be shaken up to learn that he had entered here during her sleep. He sighed, not knowing what to do, then chose to simply readjust the blanket on her frail shoulders.

Reassured, he was about to silently leave when a sketch on the desk caught his gaze. He stopped in his tracks, surprised, then, with a mixture of joy and worry, recognized the two young persons.

A young brown-haired girl, with innocent eyes, her lips parted in a surprised sigh but ready to smile. And a slightly older boy, with grey hair and vindictive eyes, taking her by the hand imperiously, as if to pull her away from a threat only he could see.

Yuuki. And Zero. Barely teenagers. Probably as they were when they first met. Who could have thought that once in adulthood, they would accomplish so many things, grand and terrible alike? But they had been gone for so long now...

The intruder’s gaze slid over the mess surrounding her, lit by a sole desk light. On the table and on the ground, books were scattered, their margins covered with commentaries, sketchbooks, paper sheets filled with hurried, barely-readable writing.

Dozens of stories. Well-known names, sometimes in careful calligraphy, sometimes scribbled with impulsivity, as if picturing a vibrant call from the past. Sketches depicting firearms and silver blades, scribbles of familiar faces with eyes illuminated with red ink. Anguish seized him again as he realized slowly the dedication in this chaos.

He already knew that Yori was writing again what she remembered. But what had been a hobby, maybe a therapy to exorcise the past, seemed to have turned into an obsession.

_Once more._

Hanabusa Aido came back to her, peacefully asleep. He couldn’t help himself: raising a hand, he brushed away with the utmost gentleness a blonde bang from the young woman’s calm face. Still breathing slowly and calmly, she didn’t react. But on the corner of her eyes, the vampire saw the salted trail of a tear.

At the contact of Yuuki and Zero, Yori had inherited a frightening gift no one could understand but her. And seven years ago, this memory, which didn’t belong to her and that she had tried to put into words, almost broke her. Aido had been a helpless witness of it...

He clenched his fists and whispered, heavy-hearted:

“...Are you sure of what you’re doing, Yori?”

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your thoughts? :-D
> 
> See you soon!


	7. Chapter Five: Hopelessly - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! We hope you're having a good winter break, and that you will enjoy this chapter! Once again, ghostbunny is to thank for the corrections 🙂

 

 

She had retreated into an alcove, sitting on a windowsill. On the other side of the cross-braced glass, snow was falling again. The sky was darkening, the veiled sun disappearing slowly.

Her head leaning against the wooden frame, she sighed softly and opened her eyes as the drink dissolved within her, its healing faculties slowly seeping in. She blinked, and her red-laced mahogany eyes fell on the cup she was holding in her hand. The red liquid and its fragrance still had no appeal to her. Yet she raised the glass to her lips to drink one more sip.

Eyes closed, she tried to remember, to convince herself that this bland, flavourless liquid on her tongue was his blood. But nothing, absolutely nothing on earth could ever compare to her lover’s blood. With dry eyes, but a heavy heart, she took a few more sips from the cup, and put it down soundlessly.

And finally, she straightened up and deigned to look at the person on the other side of the room, unmoving, accusatory. In his hand, the Bloody Rose was waiting.

She watched him calmly, despite the hate and anger blazing in his amethyst eyes. His thin shoulder-length dishevelled grey hair gave him a slovenly appearance. But it did nothing to ruin the vampiric charm he unknowingly exhaled. His sabre was already on his belt, and his white shirt was hastily buttoned, revealing his bandaged chest.

She looked, without fear nor nervousness, at the anti-vampire sabre waiting to be unsheathed. Then at the Bloody Rose, its safety off. Their gazes locked. Silence persisted, dragged on forever. The Pureblood’s gentle apparent neutrality contrasted with her liegeman’s bottled up and implacable fury.

Her mahogany eyes finally blinked. She had a faint smile, and leaned again against the wall. Her gaze got lost in the contemplation of the outside world, where snow was falling gently.

Maybe because of what she had just drank, she was serene. Danger was looming, but she felt no distrust, no fear. Her survival instinct temporarily soothed by the peace of mind given by the concoction, she closed her eyes.

Although she knew that by doing this, she might die.

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_“Yuuki” means “snow”_

_And tonight, it falls, falls soundlessly..._

_I whose name comes from the winter’s bitter cold_

_Let me embrace it without respite..._

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** Bloody Cross Chronicles **

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_Chapter Five_

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**_ Hopelessly _ **

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The shot rang. Gifted with vampiric abilities, she saw, heard absolutely everything, with an unbearable accuracy.

The shooter’s tortured expression when he raised his weapon.

The bursting light, blinding her dilated pupils, dazzling her for a split second.

The detonation; a roll of thunder to her adrenalin-filled senses.

The bullet piercing her chest, breaking her bones, tearing her flesh, lacerating everything before coming out of her body, digging through her back in a pour of blood.

**Pain**.

She suffocated, panicked, eyes wide under the shock and violence of this new, cruel and burning sensation scarring her chest. Maddened by the pain, she fell to her knees, a hand upon her chest where the deadly seal had just disappeared, leaving a horrible and gashing wound in its wake.

_Missed the heart._

This was what her instinct was telling her, as if to reassure her. In vain. But if the shot wouldn’t kill her, she was certain that suffering would. In her panic-stricken mind, corrupted by pain and looming death, only one word remained: why?

Two arms held her tight then, and beyond the scent of her own blood, she sensed the familiar and beloved aroma, recognized against her cold skin the warmth of this other body she had learnt to love in those last few months.

Her ears didn’t stop ringing. She understood then that it was because she was screaming, screaming breathlessly, with a piercing, shrieking voice. Out of breath, she coughed, the acrid taste of her own blood coming out of her throat, crimson trickles spurting on her partner’s shoulder. Panting, she fought to put in words what was obsessing her:

**_“Wh..Why? Kaname!”_ **

He, her brother, her lover, her soulmate, he just signed her death warrant, carried out the sentence himself. She was going to die, die by his hand! But why? What had she done, for him to betray her like this?

What had she done, if not loving him with all her being, all her soul?

_What had she **done**?_

“Ka... **Kaname**!” she sobbed, clinging to him, pain wrenching screams and tears out of her.

“Calm down, Yuuki. Calm down.”

She shook her head, moaning, distraught. She tried to pull away from him, horrified by what he had done and still fearing for her life. But he held her even tighter, trapping her in an iron circle.

“You are a vampire, Yuuki. A vampire. A Pureblood. You cannot die. Not from this.”

She let out a harrowing sob, unable to understand what he meant. The pain was so strong, so poignant that she was going to lose her mind.

“Control yourself, Yuuki. Let your instinct speak. You are a vampire. Listen to your body.”

Paralysed by the pain, shaking, she couldn’t get over this suffocating panic that took hold of her. Die, she was going to _die_!

“Yuuki, look at me!”

She felt his large, willowy and warm hands pull her down, placed on her tear-stained cheeks. Her wide eyes met her lover’s and stayed captivated by their dark, crimson colour.

“Yuuki, I had to do it. You’re not human anymore. Your body knows it already, but your mind still denies it. Listen to your body, Yuuki. Calm down, and listen to your instinct. You will know that you won’t die. A Pureblood like you is powerful...”

At last his words made sense to her ringing ears, and she tried to focus on her pain, something she had refused to do until then, in the hopes that running away from the suffering would maybe lessen it.

And slowly she realized that her blood had stopped flowing. Her eyes still lost in her brother’s, tears running on her cheeks, panting, she understood that the incredible vampire magic had taken over her body, and already partly closed the wound. The bones were soldering again, painfully but stronger than ever. Her heart was pounding so fast that a human being would have died from tachycardia. But for a vampire, she knew, it was natural and necessary in order to heal.

While her body was mending itself, other sensations were flowing in, becoming stronger, more imperious.

 

Exhaustion, but especially... _thirst_.

“Listen to your body, Yuuki...”

She felt then that for the last few seconds, her canines had been changing into fangs she never had before, even in her worst pangs of thirst, even during the most exciting carnal lovemaking she had known with Kaname.

Sharp and hungry fangs, made for survival, if not for healing.

Her eyes lost in his, she saw him unbutton the top of his shirt and baring his shoulder. Her slender hand went immediately to this willing flesh, stroked it longingly. She knew, she felt that her widened eyes had taken a shining scarlet colour. But within her, a twinge of fear, distrust of her brother remained, stopping her from going further.

Lost in her contemplation, she shivered, like a frightened doe cornered by a predator, as Kaname put his hand behind her head and pulled her close to his shoulder.

“I had to wipe out of your mind what was still human in you, Yuuki,” he whispered in her ear. “You are a vampire, and today you felt it at your deepest core. You know it now: a gunshot, even with a silver weapon, cannot stop you. You are **immortal** , Yuuki.”

Whimpers took over her again, as well as the throbbing pain and the panic.

“But…it hurts...the pain is...unbearable...” she managed to articulate despite her fangs and growing thirst.

“You will get used to it in time, and soon it will mean nothing to you. Just as your body will heal faster with experience.”

His hands, one behind her head, the other against her back, became more pressing. Surprised, she realized suddenly that he was shaking. His voice wasn’t as assured as it used to be.

“I beg you, I can’t stand seeing you like this...take what you want, as much as you want. I’ve prepared myself for it.”

Shivering, she glanced at him one last time, and understood how desperate he must have been to have shot her.

“Drink, I’m begging you...”

She didn’t wait any longer. With a swiftness that surprised even herself, she sank her fangs into the soft flesh, savoured Kaname’s blood as she drank hungrily. It had always seemed delicious to her, but never before did she find it so subtle, delicate and irresistible. The myriad of aromas plunged her into a swirl of amazement and elation, so much that pain soon became nothing for her body.

While she drank, in bliss, she felt her life and strength coming back tenfold, accelerating her healing at an incredible speed. Tears of joy joined with her and Kaname’s blood on her chin and lips: she felt herself live again!

After so much pain and terror, she was _alive_. Greater, more powerful, stronger than she had ever imagined.

She was a vampire. A _Pureblood_. **_Immortal_** , forever at the side of the man she loved, both of them indestructible. Together, like their parents before them, they would defy time.

Later, Kaname would explain that he had no other choice. That sooner or later, they would have faced overzealous hunters, mercenaries, or even other vampires who didn’t take well the sudden addition to the formidable Kuran family. A day would have come when Yuuki would be badly hurt...

While a Pureblood’s bite began the transformation irremediably, one did not become an accomplished vampire in one day. Descendant of the Kuran family, and as such, immortal since her transformation, Yuuki was still a burgeoning vampire: a being with yet-unseen abilities, enhanced endurance and senses, but whose mind was still restrained by her human experience. Something like pouncing, fangs bared, on an armed man, was simple enough for a vampire-born, but would have been a feat for the old Yuuki. A small wound for a seasoned Pureblood such as Kaname, could be **deadly** to a young vampiress like his sister.

Deadly, not fatal. But too often young vampires, in the past, had been overwhelmed, panicked by their regenerations, the pain it caused...and it drove them **_insane_**.

And this was the reason why Kaname, a few months after they left the Academy, once they were safe, miles away from any threat, grabbed the small anti-vampire revolver Yuuki had kept with her. Better for him to finish the process, rather than a group of enemies, if Yuuki was hurt...

And, with a heavy heart, without a warning, he had shot.

That day, that very day, Yuuki had become a full-fledged vampiress. A near-invincible being, whose body and mind were in accord with her Pureblood nature.

A being whose every ounce of former humanity had been smothered, by the very hand of the one she loved. And so, she could fully accept, at her core, the ultimate truth.

That she was immortal in body, but also in mind and heart.

Blinded by bliss, she took far more from Kaname than was necessary that day. But, still lovingly stroking her soft silky hair, not once did her soulmate try to move away.

.

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_“That day, his eyes...”_

The pen ran over the paper. Her eyes full of burning tears, Yori was barely able to see the curves of the letters she hurriedly wrote, entirely caught up by this poignant memory.

Within her, the familiar voice seemed to think for her, veiled by sorrow. The burning pain in her chest was finally fading, but her heart was still heavy.

_“Oh, Kaname...Forgive me!”_

Yori closed her eyes, shaken by an irrepressible sob, while her hand, tirelessly, was still writing down the memory possessing her, writing down what _she_ dictated.

Never had Yuuki seen Kaname as harrowed by despair than this accursed day. **Never**. The Pureblood had only understood far later: this day, they both felt themselves die. He had to aim, pull the trigger, _watch_...

On her cheeks, Yori quickly wiped away the tears that were falling onto the manuscript. In the dark of her tortured memory, a silhouette was curled up, prisoner of an almost unbearable sorrow. Her whimpers were so strong inside Yori that she thought she could hear them surrounding her, on her dusty bookshelves and her piles of forgotten books. She didn’t notice, as she wrote, that her own voice was the echo of this intolerable sadness.

_“I who couldn’t protect you,_

_I was about to lose you once more...”_

In another reality, another memory, Yuuki was still sitting in her alcove, eyes closed, indifferent and facing with renouncement, Zero and his loaded Bloody Rose.

_“I can’t give up. I can’t give you up. Not yet._

_Not until I have avenged you. Not until the one who did this has died in the most painful way possible._

_I swear to you, my love. I will carry on. I will live, without you by my side. Until the one who tore us apart…_

_...gives back what they stole from me...”_

Yori sniffled softly. Without noticing, she put away the sketchbook, inside which she had written Yuuki’s memory, from an era long past. Entranced, she went back to the sheets of paper she had covered hurriedly a bit earlier. Her writing changed, became more defined, more assertive. More masculine.

And somewhere in this sea of memories Zero had unwillingly given her, she saw Yuuki open her eyes.

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Zero sensed the change right away. Something more, in Yuuki’s eyes, in her aura. Something that hadn’t been there when he entered the room, armed and ominous. At his approach, she had lowered her eyelids, leaned against the wall. And he knew, inexplicably, that if he had unsheathed his sabre or raised the Bloody Rose in this precise moment, she wouldn’t have flinched.

A second of renouncement, pure and simple, a sudden and total surrender. A bare soul behind a defenceless body.

He couldn’t shoot. Or rather, he hadn’t wanted to. It would have been beneath him. Just like killing someone in their sleep, taking advantage of a weakness, an opening to raise a merciless blade and slash easily, shamefully.

For a few seconds, there had been in front of him, someone other than Yuuki. A young lonely woman, surely a vampire, judging by the half-empty jug of blood beside her.  But who had, in this instant, given up everything that made her a Pureblood.

The one he wanted an explanation from...It was upon her that he wanted to aim the Bloody Rose. Not on some poor creature, withdrawn and wounded, shattered in her body and mind.

So he waited. For a few seconds that seemed to stretch forever. And at last, when she opened her eyes, Yuuki was there again. Yuuki the Pureblood. The one with mahogany eyes illuminated by a gorgeous slight crimson. Their colour, her looks, her very stature, everything betrayed that she was a Kuran princess. Kaname Kuran’s sister, daughter of Juuri Kuran, said to have been as beautiful as she was deadly, and of Haruka Kuran, whose charm was only matched by his valour in battle.

Yuuki was there again, as she had always been since this stormy night when she reappeared in his life. Haughty, inscrutable, powerful. The last of her line, fiercer and more dangerous than ever.

And the _crack_ he now saw in her armour wouldn’t stop him from getting things straight.

“Why, Yuuki?”

He knew perfectly well that his question was both too vague and too ordinary to be understood, so he didn’t react when she tilted her head, slightly surprised.

“Why did you protect me? Why me?”

In his hand, the Bloody Rose was waiting, ready to shoot. Nervous, it seemed to him that the grip was burning his hand.

“Why did you risk your life?”

“Because you’re my only chance,” she whispered gently. “Didn’t I tell you enough times already? And “risk my life” is a bit of an exaggeration. They barely knew how to shoot, and their weapons were far from being efficient. Their smuggler really swindled them...”

“Don’t lie to me, Yuuki.”

There was a heavy silence. Zero shook his head. He blinked, before taking a hold of himself.

“I know that you could have died there too.”

Sitting on her windowsill in graceful nonchalance, he saw her stiffen...as expected, he thought bitterly.

“I know it...and not only because of what I saw earlier.”

Despite of himself, he remembered the blow he had given her in the bedroom, simply to push her away, and her incredible recoil. Her _moan of pain_. Zero looked away, closed his eyes briefly.

“I know...I knew it already, somehow. You received a full load of the Bloody Rose, and you didn’t fight back when they shot at you instead of me. Yet you escaped it, carrying me on your back. I don’t know how long ago it was, days, maybe weeks...But during all this time, you never stopped nursing me back to life by giving me blood, while you didn’t have enough for your own recovery. Even today, while I can get up, walk or even run away, you’ve only barely healed.”

When he finally looked at her, he both appreciated and regretted the surprise on her face. She rose, alert. Under the few brown bangs brushing her alabaster face, the reddened mahogany of her pupils blazed.

“I _feel_ it, Yuuki. Under your coldness, your looks of power and your arrogance, you’re still not as strong as people think. You let yourself wither away at your own expense...at the risk of seeing me turn against you.”

He quieted, waiting for a reaction. For a long time, she stayed still. Surprise deserted her face, replaced by a doubtful expression. Then, to his stupefaction, she calmed down, took the cup to her lips. Instinctively, he smelled the air, wanting to identify the aroma from the cup, and was alarmed to find it _awfully_ familiar.

Where had he smelled it before?

After two long sips, she was wearing a faint smile.

“So, the bond between us has strengthened again. I can’t lie to you anymore…at least, to a certain extent.”

She lowered the cup and looked outside again. Her smile faded away, and she had once more this neutral and mysterious mask she wore so often.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “I’m hurt. Me, a Pureblood. And I will not heal for a very long time – all this because of you. If you wanted to...”

“I could kill you with a few bullets. Yes, I know.”

Despite this threatening declaration, neither of them moved. She kept looking out of the window, and he was still watching her with growing surprise and wariness.

“Yuuki.”

The Pureblood didn’t move. Zero called her again, but the still and serene creature stubbornly continued just admiring the snowflakes, her silhouette simply lit by the dying whiteness of a dreary snowy day. He breathed in, ready to argue once more, then hesitated and finally gave up with a sigh. With a clicking sound, he put the safety of the Bloody Rose back on, put it back in his holster.

“Yuuki...I...”

“Alone, I don’t stand a chance.”

Yuuki’s voice was cold, as sharp as a knife. When Zero raised his head, he couldn’t see her face, still stubbornly looking outside. A slight crack was heard, and he looked down at the vampiress’ hand, the one holding the glass cup: the object was cracking under her whitened, clenched fingers.

“Absolutely none.”

The cup was shattered, the few remaining red drops spilled onto the black velvet of her sleeve. Instantly, another aura, a familiar and tempting essence blossomed in the closed room, making every inch of Zero’s skin stand on edge. He shivered, and tried to contain the inexplicable _desire_ taking hold of him.

If Yuuki noticed his turmoil, she didn’t react to it, nor to the liquid staining her dress. Her whispering voice was hardly contained.

“Kaname trained me, for five years, to be deserving of the title of Pureblood, as the Kuran family viewed it. For five years, he taught me how to fight, to stay in control, in order to survive and remain unseen by the human world... for five years, he taught me how to become a vampire. **All to end up like this!** ”

Quickly, she threw away the remains of the cup; it shattered loudly on the polished floor.

“To end up...like this!”

She whispered those words in a barely-audible voice, while staring at her bloodstained hand. And finally, Zero understood why he felt all the symptoms of a true and unwavering thirst.

“A vampiress cutting herself with a mere crystal shard...”

Yuuki’s palm was blemished by a neat and deep cut, blood already oozing from it. At the sight of a crimson pearl dripping to the wrist, Zero almost fainted. Panting, he fought with all his will to stop himself from sinking his fangs into the tantalizing wound. Unaware of Zero’s unease, lost in her own world, Yuuki licked the pearl of blood, and followed with the tip of her tongue its scarlet trail up to the faint cut, exhaled briefly on it and closed her fist. She put her forehead on her closed fingers, and Zero could swear he heard her hold back a whimper.

“Kaname...”

A few seconds later, when she straightened up – her face more expressionless than ever – she opened her hand again, unveiling her once-again flawless palm. Immediately, Zero’s breath became easier, and he briefly closed his eyes to calm down completely.

A Pureblood licking carefully her own blood. Such an image. It had been almost... ** _irresistible_**...

“Yuuki,” he said in a raspy voice, before clearing his throat. “Alone or with me, you will never bring him back. I don’t want to risk my life chasing chimeras. This desire for revenge won’t lead us anywhere.”

A strange, broken melody suddenly filled up the darkening room. An enticing melody, but a sad, lonely, terribly bitter one. A _laugh_.

In front of Zero’s dismayed eyes, Yuuki was laughing. It only lasted a few seconds before she stopped and looked at him with mocking and caustic eyes, almost condescending. Silently, they stared at each other, and slowly her false smile faded – it had been as bitter and forced as her previous laugh.

“A desire for revenge leading nowhere...Are you really the one saying this to me, Zero?”

He didn’t flinch this time, although a storm of unpleasant memories, stained in hatred and tears, filled his mind. She was right: who was he to talk about the useless destruction of revenge? He who spent the greater part of his teenage years nurturing such ideas...

“I know nothing will bring him back, Zero. We were both resilient to the point where we were considered immortals, but we are not gods.”

Yuuki’s hazelnut eyes gained a far-away look. At last, they were free of their impressive crimson colour.

“I know that nothing will bring him back to me...that every day, I will have to carry on living without his smile, his words, his voice. That every hour, I’ll have to deny this truth he managed to teach me, at the price of a painful sacrifice...”

The Pureblood’s hand grabbed the amber pendant gleaming on her neck.

“Eternity...”

She let silence loom, while she lost her gaze in the iridescent depths of amber. In the semi-darkness, Zero distinguished pale and tiny glimmers of light against Yuuki’s white skin, probably caused by the small trapped crystal. Softly, she kissed the jewellery, and put it to her forehead, her eyelids piously closed.

“Desire for revenge is not enough of a reason for you?”

Once more, the Pureblood’s passivity had been short-lived, and her voice was sharper than a silver blade on a vampire’s skin. She opened her eyes, and her pupils fell slowly upon Zero, piercing. The pendant fell back against her chest, a golden tear against black clothes.

“Then I can give you other reasons...”

Yuuki finally descended from the windowsill, left the alcove slowly and cautiously. Her fists clenched while she scowled at Zero with her mahogany eyes.

“Yes, to make this assassin pay a hundred times for the suffering he caused us, and kill him in the most painful way possible; it’s something that would carry me to the end of the world... but this is not what keeps me still standing. This isn’t what stops me from joining Kaname, wherever he is!”

Her voice quivered in a tremor filled with emotion, while she stepped closer to Zero. Fascinated by her beauty and presence as well as her irrepressible eloquence, he didn’t even think of stepping back. All this bitter rage he saw in the Pureblood’s eyes wasn’t aimed at him, but it drew him to her like a moth to a flame...

“I want to find the wretched being who did this, to awaken my memories. I want to get them back! I want to know the last few minutes I spent with Kaname...they remain out of reach no matter what I do! Our last fight, side by side, his last words, his last look...his farewells! The farewells of the man I loved more than anything, as he laid dying in my arms!”

Her mahogany irises blazed, and Zero couldn’t take his astonished eyes off them. Yuuki’s voice, full of tears, rang through the great sleepy house, and it broke his heart. He who was about to kill her a few minutes ago...to his ever-growing surprise, he found himself feeling _compassion_ for her!

To realize it, threw him into an unspeakable dismay: where would this bond chaining them together end? How much would it continue to enslave him?

“I want to be certain!” she shouted. “I want to know that I was as brave as my father, as belligerent as my mother, and just like my brother! I want to know that I did my best, that I gave everything that night to protect him! I want to remember his smile, if he comforted me, and that he doesn’t hold my survival against me! I want to remember our...our last moments!”

 

She put a hand on her belly, and Zero almost felt, through the memories she imposed him, the horrible wound she received on this tragic day.

“The assassin has to pay for what they did to us! They took everything from me that night, **everything**!”

A rumble suddenly shook the furniture, while a brief gush of wind slashed the wall behind Zero, tearing the drapes. The crystal chandelier jingled plaintively, and the windowpanes of the alcove were scratched. The vampiress closed her eyes briefly, twitched her head nervously while she reclaimed full control of her power.

Without paying attention to this barely-contained surge of power, despite the danger it held, Zero looked her in the eyes.

“At least, you’re still here, Yuuki. You’re alive...”

She was startled, and seemed to come back at last to her senses. She abruptly turned away from Zero.

“I was spared...I didn’t die, but I might as well have. Without Kaname...”

She was ashamed of her own outburst; Zero, through their bond, felt it clearly. And, in a way, he understood her.

“Without Kaname, I am nothing. Nothing at all.”

Motionless, she whispered this truth with such sincerity and bitterness that at last Zero saw her as she really was. She had become an adult, a proud and haughty Pureblood, gorgeous and deadly...

But not that tall, in truth. Because she was close enough for them to touch, he realized suddenly that she barely reached his shoulder. He himself had grown since the Academy, and he was taller than most. As such, their height ratio seemed unchanged since the past. And the way she kept her head down, her eyes avoiding his, reminded him so much of the former Yuuki that it hurt.

Troubled, he didn’t know what to do or say. Something inside of him urged him to fully sympathize with her, to kneel before her sorrow, to comfort her. He hurriedly pushed away this pity he felt, persuaded himself that it was caused by their unwilling bond.

He looked away too, surly, and his eyes fell on the table where there were other cups just like the one Yuuki had destroyed. Near them was a carafe filled with clear water, and a pillbox. Zero’s amethyst eyes widened when he recognized it.

“...Blood Tablets?”

Yuuki straightened herself right away and follow his surprised gaze. With a strangely relieved sigh, she walked to the table and grabbed the pillbox, pulled out a number of them and, without looking, diluted them in an intact cup. Zero sensed once more the familiar aroma he couldn’t identify earlier.

“You’re taking them willingly?”

She nodded.

“It was one of Kaname’s principles. If I still respect them...it’s a way of keeping him alive.”

With these words, she took a big sip of the mixture. Zero saw her mahogany pupils redden almost immediately.

“Even if,” she added pensively, “It’s not worth the blood of a vampire...or even of a human, so they say.”

He pondered on this declaration as she drank, without disgust but without precipitation either. He finally yielded.

“True...it doesn’t compare.”

Lost in thought, almost detached from everything, Yuuki sat back near the window, in the dusking light of the alcove. Seeing her move away made Zero feel torn apart, filled with an uneasiness he couldn’t admit to, but too strong for his soul, still fighting against this dependence.

Dependence on her, her presence, her delicate and overwhelming perfume, the imperceptible shudder of her heartbeats, the gentle song of her blood running under her opal skin – a muffled but charming song, obvious for one who knew how to listen. Zero gulped hard, overcome by ever-changing torments: near the Pureblood, each of his senses seemed to be enhanced, to better throw him off-balance. He wanted to hate her, loathe her from the bottom of his soul, but the reality was different, and far crueller: he couldn’t do anything against her. Absolutely nothing.

_Yuuki…_

...The first person to whom he had shown the truth of his vile nature, that he had until then kept secret – jealously and fearfully.

She upon whom he had, for the first time, used the strongest, sharpest, most imperious of his abilities, the one shaping his vampire core and essence: to bite to survive.

She, whose blood was so divine it would have warned any seasoned vampire. But he, a disgusting creature barely discovering its taste, could only savour its quintessence, with as much delight as remorse.

She, the first to have fed him. The only one back then to do so willingly, without ulterior motive or self-interest, for only one reason: to save the abject monster he was at that time.

_She_. His childhood friend, his sister in soul and mind.

Yuuki.

Zero closed his eyes on the out of reach silhouette. Once again still and dreamy, she gazed upon the snowy landscape. Impassable before, now he sneered, filled with apprehension and hesitation before the bare truth: there was a bond chaining them.

He couldn’t deny it anymore...but this bond had existed well before that fateful day when she had bewitched him. A chain which, against all odds, had not been broken the day Yuuki was revealed to be a Pureblood.

A link that was born, another snowy night, as she wiped the blood from his body.

A link that began one night when, filled with pain and sorrow for him, she stopped him from mutilating his throat and swore to help him, come what may. A link that strengthened through the years, while he slowly learnt to tolerate her, live by her side...and to like her. Trust her. To wish for her happiness.

A link that was sealed, at last, one morning when she chose to offer her own life, to soothe him. Him, a vile, worthless creature, desperately resigned to his own fate. And yet, she had believed in him.

Zero sighed, trapped by a gentle and insidious torture. Ever since she betrayed him by chaining him to her, he had sworn that she would pay, had cursed her every second of every hour of his never-ending torment. And yet, now, in this silent and dark old house that reminded him of their former Academy, old memories resurfaced, like mindless ghosts. Nostalgic and, sometimes, even happy. Memories of the former Yuuki, the pretty “tomboy” so sensitive, so mindful to her friends’ well-being. A teenager, in some aspects still a child, absent-minded and reckless in her quest for justice, but touching in her weakness and her bravery.

Was it so different today? That young human girl with a will of steel but a fragile body, now gone, was she so different from the vampiress broken in her body and heart; this Pureblood kept going by only a sparkle of determination, alive, proud and unshakable? As Zero looked at her, he felt a pang in his heart: between the Guardian of the past and the Pureblood of this frozen present, it seemed that there was but a step, a veil...

Was the bond between them to blame for this change of heart, this beginning of acceptance of something that seemed unforgivable a few weeks ago? Without this chain, would have he even thought about this? Would he see this thing he didn’t dare – out of pride and fear – to call _likeness_ between the “former” Yuuki and this one?

But this wasn’t the point anymore, he conceded bitterly. He was tired of fighting this fate he had so unfairly received.

“It’s settled...”

Tired of fighting this great and unbreakable current, breaking him over and again, sweeping him away to other shores, other goals he did not chose.

“...I accept.”

Yuuki looked up, curious. It wasn’t Zero’s words that pulled her from her torpor – his voice was too weak to be heard – but his tone, monotonous and resigned.

Incredulous, the dulled mahogany eyes locked with Zero’s amethysts. He hesitated, then briefly bowed before her; the proud and spirited horse he had been until then could not keep resisting the pull of destiny. Exhausted, panting, he accepted his new master without conditions, for in battle he had given everything. The master had better make no mistake about it: this surrender would only be temporary. But until their goal was met, the liegeman would put all his might, mind and soul, to his mistress’ service, in the hopes of being freed faster from his burden.

His anger and power, which hadn't been enough to free him, he would turn them against his master’s enemies. And then, they better watch out…!

“I agree to help you”, Zero added, straightening up, in a stronger and more assertive voice. “I still don’t know how you plan to find the assassin. But I will do everything in my power to assist you.”

Zero didn’t blink this time.

“You said it well enough: denying this won’t lead us anywhere.”

They both knew, in this instant, how much these words were both true and false. Zero was doing this because he was fated to do so... but also because he felt indebted to her. After all, a ledger of blood still remained between them. A debt going back from a forgotten Academy.

At first, Yuuki remained speechless, sincere surprise livening her usually neutral features. She jumped off the windowsill, so quickly that for a second Zero thought she would leap and hug him. But her dignity stopped her in time, and she stayed in the alcove, the snow falling outside giving her a white, fuzzy halo.

“Thank you, Zero.”

She had a smile which, compared to the former Yuuki’s, looked faint, but it wonderfully illuminated the Pureblood’s sullen face. Instantly, he sensed her relief, and himself felt like an invisible vice had loosened its grip, allowing him to breathe more freely.

Was that what was happening? Did one’s feelings influence the other? It was a strange sensation: as if the core of his body and soul didn’t really belong to him anymore.

But Zero didn’t have time to ponder on this new aspect of their relationship.

“It’s been a few days since you took something, and you’re still recovering...You must need it.”

She pulled gracefully on the collar of her black-laced blouse, baring the alabaster skin of her neck. She had barely finished her gesture or her sentence before he felt his fangs lengthen, a most explicit answer to her invite.

He thought he could see, under this milky white skin, the carotid beating, promising a warm, delicious and uninterrupted crimson flow.

She closed her eyes. Mesmerized, he stepped forward.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go before the end of the year! Incidentally, it will also be the end of the current arc. We'll see you there! In the meantime, why won't you leave a review as an early Christmas gift?


	8. Chapter Five: Hopelessly - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! We're sorry for the delay, we should have published this chapter on Saturday as usual, but there was a mishap (send your angry messages to me, the translator, because I'm the one to blame for this) Extra thanks to Ghostbunny who worked extra diligently on the editing!  
> On the plus side, having this chapter late means the next chapter will arrive sooner :)  
> Anyway, we hope you'll enjoy it!

 

 

Alone in the middle of the frozen plain, she was waiting.

The sun was barely rising, its shy rays falling on the neighbouring snow-covered woods, stroking gently the abandoned fields and the iced earth. The young woman looked at the pale sun without blinking, her shining green eyes framed by the brown fur of her hood and her warm woollen scarf wrapped up to her nose. With a small shiver of pleasure and serenity, she congratulated herself on being so warmly clothed. Forgetting what she was doing here for a moment, she looked down on the creaking earth underneath her fur-lined boots, and saw, elated, the small blades of grass valiantly piercing the ice coat. Spring would soon be there.

A movement caught her eyes, and they immediately became wary and watchful. Under her warm brown coat, she made sure she still had the loaded revolver at her hip. Nowadays, she always carried it with her.

But her wariness disappeared despite of herself when she saw a silhouette walking steadily toward her, her beige coat flowing gracefully around her. The apparition – for she looked like one, as she crossed the fifty meters between her and the forest unnoticed – stopped a few steps away from her. Under the white fur of her hood, her mahogany eyes looked at her with gentleness as well as a strange inborn authority.

“Hello, Hermia.”

Hermia's breath was taken away at her sight, this woman she only met a few days before: back then, she seemed weak and unwell, her face haggard and gaunt, an imperceptible hesitation apparent in her steps, and sometimes her beautiful face had seemed to wince under the weight of a silent but violent pain...

But today, it was a totally different person standing before her: an unearthly beauty. She moved with the swift and unfathomable strength of a lioness. Her skin, no longer pale and translucent, was a rosy alabaster and seemed to shine softly in the dawning sun. And her eyes...delicately framed by long silky eyelashes, they sparkled with a shimmering mahogany light, magnificent and amber, barely laced with a hint of crimson only the forewarned could see. They only brought more mystery to this bewitching gaze, imperious despite itself. Up to the half-smile on her thin, perfect lips and the few silky brown locks of hair escaping from her hood. She was radiant.

In awe, Hermia couldn’t do anything but kneel down and bowed hastily. Instead of the apparition’s name, a title spurted from her lips, a title she couldn’t imagine not to say.

“Y...Your Highness!”

“Your Highness”, a word meant for princesses, royalty...for that was what she looked like, this apparition who honoured her with another meeting.

In her haste, Hermia’s hood fell on her shoulders, revealing her pretty curly auburn hair. Her eyes locked on the icy earth, she did not care about the cold seeping through her trousers and her leather gloves. Amazed, she kept her mind on this woman who looked about her age, and yet had reached in just a few days a beauty and a grace transcending the wildest dreams of ordinary mortals.

There was a rustling noise, and a few creaking sounds, barely audible: black leather boots appeared in her field of vision, and then her voice rose again, amused but gentle:

“Rise up, Hermia. Do I look so terrifying?”

The peasant woman barely dared to look into Yuuki’s shining, mysterious eyes. She had taken her hood off and, without hesitation, had knelt down too. She probably understood what effect she had on Hermia, and the vampiress was nothing but gentle and comprehensive. She extended her hands.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Hermia gulped with difficulty, remembering at last to breathe again. Hesitant, she put her glove-covered hands in the Pureblood’s, and wasn’t surprised to find them warm despite their bareness in the winter cold.

“You are terrifying”, she stammered. “But that’s because you are so...beautiful...”

She found some courage again, but so short-lived that she bitterly regretted her words as soon as they got out of her mouth.

“Is this the power you told me about?”

The “Purebloods”. Those beings Yuuki told her about her briefly the last time they met...

Led by a strange intuition – Hermia suspected later on it had been caused by the vampiress herself –, she had walked to this deserted place a week ago, with the weapon called Bloody Rose and all its bullets. Surprised and incredulous, she then saw this woman in a beige coat coming out from the forest, and was instantly alarmed when she recognized the “cold red-eyed she-devil” who had appeared a few weeks earlier to save another grey-haired vampire. During this new meeting, the woman, who introduced herself as Yuuki still had blood-red eyes and a dark aura. But her total lack of retaliation when she had came to save her companion, as well as her sickly weakness, prevented Hermia from finishing her off with one bullet, and inspired her instead to listen to her warily.

That day, she learnt more than ever about the secret world of the “blood-drinkers”. The numerous casts dividing the vampires, from the lowest of the low, the Level-E, to the most powerful, the Purebloods. She understood, dismayed, that her enemies weren’t subject to total anarchy as she had thought. Just like the humans, there was an authority tasked with leading the vampires. This Council was in agreement with some sort of Hunter Association, composed of gifted humans, armed with adequate weapons and tasked with stopping or killing anyone disobeying the rules of the “Night World”. Warriors and men of honour, far different from the cunning smugglers who sold them dubious weapons.

From their discussion, some kind of mutual respect was born between the human and the weakened vampiress, a common interest that led to a deal: the Bloody Rose in exchange of a promise, something very important for Hermia...

But back then, Hermia was far from thinking that the skinny and pale Pureblood, who looked indeed quite harmless, would recover in just a few days every feature of her race. Could she now submit her with her mind, through her bare beauty, her big imperious hazelnut eyes?

Was it one of those Purebloods’ powers, bringing mortals to their knees by their mere presence ?

Yuuki answered her previous question with a secretive smile. Slowly she rose up, and since the two women were holding hands, they stood face to face, eyes to eyes, one asking a thousand silent questions, the other answering them with a baffling serenity.

“I’m sorry I scared you”, the vampiress said again, slightly bowing, with a simplicity that magnified her even more. “I didn’t realize how much I had changed since our last meeting.”

Hermia nodded nervously. She managed, with some difficulty, to find her composure again.

“I’m happy to see you getting better.”

Yuuki’s smile widened. A rustle among the trees behind her caught Hermia’s eyes, and she instantly paled again. On the plain, a third silhouette, dark and taller, moved forward them before stopping, as if awaiting an order.

“Lady Yuuki...it is...is it him?”

She nodded with a faint smile. Without turning, she whispered:

“You can come closer, Zero.”

Surpringly, as if gifted with superhuman hearing, he obeyed almost immediately. And Hermia, apprehensive, watched the approach of the man who had disrupted the execution of Neidchmart, and killed one of his own kind in cold blood. More than that, he man who had leapt on her and threatened her with his fangs with such violence that she still had nightmares about it. How long ago was it? More than a month...But she still remembered with absolute, terrifying clarity this dark, lean silhouette. His blazing scarlet eyes screaming with rage and distress, his gaunt face distorted by despair and fury, whose oversized fangs got so close to her...

But instead of the panting, emaciated and dying vampire who had held her hostage, she saw, in shock, someone as healthy as she was. Holding his head high, his eyes were neutral and troubling in their amethyst colour, this purple crystal you only found in some subterranean caves of the region. His hair was no longer dirty or tangled, and even looked like it had been cut, the longest grey strands barely reaching the back of his neck. Several rings and earrings she didn’t see last time adorned his ears with meticulous taste, their cold metallic gleam adding something charming and intimidating to his indisputable beauty.

This Zero was clearly not a human being. But he didn’t look like Hermia’s mental picture of a vampire, even though her meeting with Yuuki changed her point of view a bit. His purple gaze, detached and devoid of animosity, made her think of an avenging angel who, without enemies to strike down, remained distant but constantly watchful.

So this was him, this “Level E” that Yuuki claimed to have saved thanks to her Pureblood powers...Hermia couldn’t help but instinctively respect, and even admire him, just like she did when she faced the vampiress. So much serene beauty was disconcerting, but it couldn’t inspire fear.

At least, not for the moment, she thought with surprise.

Hermia looked at the two strangers, almost forgetting that she was in the company of creatures who could easily tear her apart in seconds. They both looked calm, shared the same mysterious and transcending beauty, more pronounced for Yuuki. But as the former Level E watched, pensively, the deserted surroundings with inscrutable eyes, and the Pureblood radiated gentleness, a smile on her lips, Hermia couldn’t say which one of them was the more dangerous.

The vampire was the first to break the silence. He sighed.

“He’s here.”

He seemed ill at ease, even annoyed. His companion – Hermia couldn’t help but see them like this – gently acquiesced, letting him know she felt the same presence.

“Renth is here, isn’t he?”

Surprised, Hermia nodded. The memory of the Pureblood’s promise came back to her, and her heart filled with a hope too strong to put in words.

“Lady Yuuki, you...”

“Can you tell him to come?” the Pureblood interrupted, her voice soft but categorical, her smile barely perceptible.

Hermia shuddered, questioned wordlessly the two supernatural beings facing her. Suddenly, the danger of the situation was crystal clear. How reckless of her! What if it was nothing but a trap? What if...

“We won’t hurt him”, said the vampire, his low voice naturally comforting. “As long as he doesn’t try anything against us, you’re not in any danger.”

Hermia stilled, reassured. Wary by nature, she usually wouldn’t let herself convinced so easily. But this promise she had exchanged for the Bloody Rose was worth all the risks.

Reluctantly, she turned her back to the two vampires, raised her arm toward of the edge of the woods behind her. Immediately, a previously unseen form let himself fall from the branches, a rifle in his hand. Reluctantly, he put it against a trunk, and walked to the small group. One could tell, from his quickened pace, that he had waited for this moment a long time, condemned to stay still while, from his hiding spot, he watched Hermia alone with two vampires.

She walked to him. With just one look, one pressure on his arm, she urged him to not succombe to the desire of revenge she felt rise in him. Despite his reluctance, Renth listened to her. He would have taken the stars out of the sky for her, just to earn the right to stay with her; a right which, for his fortune, was already his, thanks to the ineffable love they felt for each other.

This was how Renth, whose past led him to hate vampires viciously, let himself be led without resistance, and even calmly, toward Yuuki and the one who seemed at her service. For one second, his gaze crossed the vampire’s, and he too was surprised by his different appearance and aura. The pitiful and dangerous creature he saw a few weeks earlier seemed to have never existed. Thrown off balance, yet he greeted his former enemy – this vicious beast who had dared threaten Hermia – with a nod. Zeroanswered him with as much coldness. While not forgotten, the incident was put behind them.

Then Renth forced himself to look at this vampiress, this “Pureblood” Hermia told him about, and who hadn’t taken her eyes off him ever since he left his hiding spot. He perfectly remembered the creature who, quick as lightning, had saved the crazy vampire from their bullets. Even standing in front of her, he couldn’t believe she has survived so many injuries - and Hermia had forgotten to tell him that she was also breathtakingly beautiful.

There was something inhuman in the perfection of her features and movements, which only led him to be even more wary.

“Hermia told me about you”, whispered the Pureblood, looking at him earnestly.

“You don’t know anything about me”, boasted Renth with disdain, which made Hermia shudder as she tightened her grip on his arm.

“I know you were once attacked by a crazy vampire, and that you barely escaped with your life”, added the vampire, as if there had been no interruption. “I also know that his attack left a wound in your mind and body, a wound which will never heal. I feel its aura reeking around you. It’s a pain that prevents you from moving on, to live the present and think about the future. But maybe I can help you.”

Her voice lowered, became a whisper; she knew she asked for much.

“For this, you would have to let me approach you...touch you.”

Renth frowned, on the defensive.

“Why would you do something like this? What does it matter to you, that a human like me suffers because of one of you?”

The question, asked out of pure spite, seemed to shake the Pureblood. Hermia’s grip became imperious.

“Renth, please! Let her help you...”

“Because I wasn’t always able to do so”, whispered the Pureblood. “I know what it’s like to see someone close to you fall into mental and physical decay. And I’ve never forgotten the time when I was helpless before such suffering.”

Renth and Hermia remained quiet at these enigmatic words. Zero seemed surprised a brief instant, before falling back into his watchful composure.

“So? Do you accept my help?”

Renth didn’t blink before the vampire’s intransigent eyes. For one second, he wanted to refuse, simply because she was “one of them”. But Hermia interposed, clinging to him.

“Renth...please.”

Even though she kept her head high, her voice was shaky. Hesitant, he looked into those emerald-green eyes, who reminded him so much of the green pastures of their dear country.

Yesterday, he had learnt with dismay the deal Hermia made with the one called Yuuki, and even if he knew she had his well-being at heart, he reacted violently. The evening ended in a terrible argument and Renth’s adamant refusal to cooperate – even when Hermia claim to have already honoured her part of the deal, and he didn’t dare to think about what it meant. Yet, he had slept on it and changed his mind. Nothing would have stopped Hermia from meeting the Pureblood the next morning, and while Renth was firmly opposed to it, he would have rather fought another Level E that know she was alone with those monsters. With his best sniper rifle, he went with her, heavy-hearted.

Hermia held his gaze, knowing the distress he felt.

“Renth...It’s the solution we’ve been waiting for all these years. We won’t have another chance, and you know it.”

Renth looked away, trapped. They had joined the Resistance not only out of revenge or to protect their loved ones from the vampire threat. Hermia did everything in her power to find informations, looking for the best treatments for wounds caused by Level E. Alas, nothing turned out satisfactory.

But then came a surprisingly kind Pureblood who offered to examine his wound. Could they ask for more?

Vanquished by his companion’s pleading eyes, Renth gave in.

“Very well...go on”, he muttered in a surly tone.

The Pureblood stepped forward immediately. Instinctively, as if she knew the deal would suffer from an intrusion, Hermia stepped back a bit. Yuuki raised a bare and slender hand to Renth’s left shoulder. He fought back the impulse to push her away. Behind the vampiress, who had closed her eyes, he knew that her bodyguard, despite his tranquil demeanour, was ready to attack at the slightest sign of threat.

A strange warmth around his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. Surprised, he looked down on her hand, raised a few centimetres away from his shoulder. Focused, eyes closed, Yuuki frowned then relaxed. The warmth disappeared.

“I can do something about it, but it might take a toll on me. Zero, do you mind?”

He seemed surprised to be asked for his opinion, but thought about it seriously.

“Well, it would slow us down...”

He put his hand to his chest, seeming to find under his thick coat the reassuring presence of an unseen object.

“But the Bloody Rose was well worth it. So, do what you please.”

Eyes still closed, the vampiress smiled. At the same time, Renth looked for his companion’s elusive gaze: so this was the deal! The Bloody Rose, this wonderful gun which suddenly vanished last week...Hermia took it and met, mindless of the danger, those vampires to ask for an exchange.

The Bloody Rose for his healing...she was crazy!

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sheepish, Hermia bit her lip.

“Because you would never have let me do it.”

Furious, Renth didn’t have the time to add anything, for a brutal force took over him, forcing him to stay silent. Though it was painless, the vice didn’t allow him to move an inch. Powerless, refusing to give in to panic, he saw with apprehension the vampire’s hand move to his neck. This contact, while soft and innocent, made him shudder in horror. Without minding his reaction, her hand went to his injured shoulder, lighter than a feather as she pushed his clothes away to reveal the horrible scar.

“It won’t be long...”

When the vampiress said these words, her level of concentration was betrayed by her monotonous and muffled tone. Suddenly a sharp and burning pain took over Renth who, frozen, couldn’t even moan. The force holding him prisoner brought him to his knees...or was it caused by a brutal and sudden exhaustion, taking his strength away?

He felt as though, within his scar, every single swelling, every single bruise was opening again, pierced by a pitiless blade. Frozen, he could do nothing but watch this woman, this vampiress looming over him, at her mercy. A drop of sweat appeared on her brow while she whispered words in an unknown language.

“I’m sorry” were the only words he could understand in her gloomy litany.

Suddenly her eyes opened wide, and he saw with horror the red irises of his nightmares. The blade of a knife appeared from under her coat. Before he could comprehend what was happening, in a blindingly quick slash, she cut his cheek, then leaned in and put her hungry lips on his cut. Behind him, Hermia moaned in anguish but did not move.

Time slowed down, stood still. Under the vampire’s hand, Renth’s shoulder was set ablaze, as if under the contact of a white-hot blade. With rising terror, he felt the soft burning lips on the cut, the succion as his blood slowly left his body...

His suffering lasted but a few seconds: pain in his shoulder became almost unbearable, before suddenly vanishing. The grip holding him down disappeared as well, and the stunned numbness of his mind faded into thin air. A new wave of disgust rose to his lips while the vampire’s mouth was still on the cut on his cheek, sucking hungrily his vital fluid. Enraged, he pushed her away.

“Stand back, vulture!”

To his relief and surprise, the vampire didn’t resist. While he got up, panting, steaming at the mouth, she fell in the snow and didn’t get up. Her dark, unending brown hair was like a veil, hiding her face and demonic eyes. But on her shivering and guilty lips, blood was still pearling.

“You’re all the same...vile beasts without honour!”

Blinded by rage and the fear that he barely survived, Renth grabbed a small revolver on his hip and aimed it at the unmoving vampiress. Hermia screamed, and moved between them, grabbing his arm to move it away from the Pureblood.

“Don’t do this!”

A shadow flew in like a gust of wind. The vampiress disappeared from Renth’s view. A flash of light whistled over Hermia’s shoulder and stopped a few centimetres away from Renth’s neck. Surprised, he froze.

Paralysed with horror and fear, Renth looked at Zero who, quick as lightning, had unsheathed a sabre and was pointing its shiny blade on his chin. Petrified too, Hermia gripped her companion even harder, staring, wide-eyed, at the cold blade almost touching her right cheek.

“This is an hybrid sword. Only one side is anti-vampire”, growled Zero. “Threaten us once more, and I swear that I won’t chose the wrong edge to make you pay for it.”

Renth felt the point of the sabre piercing slightly into his flesh to mark the cold words. Under the wild grey bangs barring his face, the vampire’s eyes glared at him fiercely. The amethyst of his irises was barely tinted with a slight but threatening red. His aura, perfectly contained, was even scarier than during their first meeting.

Dead silence fell on the icy plain. Hardly daring to breath, Renth glared back at Zero, who remained more unreadable and focused than ever. In his companion’s arms, Hermia started to gently weep. A wet, strangled sound pulled them out of their frozen torpor, and Hermia was the first to react.

“L-Lady Yuuki! ”

After a slight hesitation, she pulled away from Renth’s embrace, who would have held her tighter if not for Zero’s inquisitive blade a few millimetres away from his throat. Trembling, Hermia knelt next to the vampire who was sitting in the snow with some difficulty. She spit the blood and, in a haze, her fingers brushed her stained lips before wiping them out hurriedly, looking shameful and disgusted. Renth frowned, disconcerted.

The vampiress weakly refused Hermia’s help and stood up, stepping unceremoniously on the blood-stained snow. Her feline grace was no more, and she looked exhausted. In the shadow of her mahogany hair, her eyes were slowly loosing their red colour, caused by, he knew it, bloodlust. Why did she spit his blood, then? Did she think she was too good for him?

The vampire’s hesitant attitude led him to say out loud what he was thinking.

“What, my blood’s not good enough for you?” he jeered, mindless of the threatening blade sinking a bit deeper in his skin. “You would have preferred a pretty young woman? A defenceless child? She-devil!”

The vampire didn’t deem necessary to answer, and simply looked at him with indifference. She finally stood up, a fraction of her haughtiness back.

“Why did you take my blood, if it was only to spit it out in disgust? Just to humiliate me, or scare me?”

Hermia answered him. Visibly torn apart by the love she felt for Renth and the respect she had for Yuuki, she answered bravely his hateful questions, her cheeks reddened by indignation.

“Because she had to!”

“That’s what she told you!”

“I needed it. To finish healing your shoulder, I had to taste your blood...”

The Pureblood’s voice commanded silence. Offhandedly, she wiped the last carmine trails on her milky face. Shadows had appeared under her duller eyes, still vaguely tinted in red.

“In order to succeed, I had to know your very essence...I’m sorry I had to do this without your consent.”

“I’m the one who insisted on not telling you”, added Hermia harshly, anticipating her companion’s question. “I knew that at the very idea of spilling your blood you would rather die than let her approach.”

She walked to Renth, freed from Zero’s blade, wich was still unsheathed. Locking her emerald eyes in Renth’s icy blue, Hermia gently stroke his cheek.

“And if you had refused she couldn’t have healed you. Because you are, now...aren’t you?”

Those last few words had been nothing but a pleading whisper. In her eyes, Renth saw her fear at the thought that maybe all of this had been useless. Suddenly, he shared the young woman’s fear. With a trembling hand, he touched his injured shoulder, and felt it carefully, incredulous. Under his fingers, the once-swollen skin was now smooth again. The wounded flesh, once numb in some places and extremely painful in others, had regained its sensitivity. With rising exhilaration, he moved his formerly disabled arm: not one tingling sensation, nor any cramp.

He was healed...

Speechless, a lump in his throat, he looked down again at Hermia, who was already weeping with joy. Silently, beaming, they hugged each other.

The two vampires watched the scene, both sharing the same neutral gaze. Zero sheathed his weapon, looked at his travelling companion inquisitively.

“Our work here is done.”

Yuuki watched the couple for a few lingering moments, an indefinable expression on her tired features. Then, slowly, she nodded with a blink.

“Yes...let’s go.”

.

.

When Hermia emerged of her trance to turn and thank the Pureblood, her eyes, sparkling with joy, met no one. Their bliss momentarily put aside, the couple studied their surroundings: the icy plain, slowly warming up to the morning sun, was deserted. Without a sound, without a word, the strange and hieratic silhouettes of the vampires had disappeared.

While they both looked at the footprints in the earth and the few ounces of blood-stained snow – the only proofs that it hadn’t been a dream – Hermia remembered the words of this immortal woman, whom she had been lucky – or unlucky? – enough to meet in her long journey. Yuuki.

“ _I can heal the man you love, although I will need a physical contact, and to be able to taste his blood. I can remodel his wounded flesh, erase all the physical remnants of his encounter with this unknown vampire...but his trauma, poisoning his soul, I can’t do anything about it.”_

The vampiress had closed her eyes painfully, looking sincerely concerned.

“ _I can take away all tangible remains of his aggression, and by doing so helping him to start a normal life again...but it will be you who shall have to heal the wound of his heart. While I will only need a few seconds at most to mend his body, it may be that the healing of his soul won’t ever be complete...But I think you are both wise enough to understand it, and be patient.”_

The mahogany and crimson gaze of the Pureblood had fell on her again, both ominous and caring.

“ _I’m counting on you to send a message. Now that our two worlds have collided, we’re living through dark times. Truth brought far more anguish and woe that we thought...there’s already dissent among our kin. I don’t know how and when this will end...I can only advice you to remain careful, and to wait. Protect the others, watch out for the strangers crossing your country and destroy Level Es if one of them ventures too close, but don’t go marching into war. There’s not many vampires as caring as Zero and I.”_

Hermia remembered briefly the appalling metamorphosis of the Level E at the sight of one drop of blood, as well as Zero’s impassive face before Renth’s cut, and Yuuki’s serene attitude after spitting a mouthful of blood. Yes, even if she had seen but one facet of their personalities, those two were far different from the idea she had of vampires.

“They could have been like us”, whispered Renth, absent-mindedly, as if thinking out loud.

Silently, Hermia held him tighter. Her still-wet eyes lingered on the edge of the woods where she had seen, twice now, a mysterious creature approach. The thought that she may never see her again made her heart heavy. Was it because she was thankful? Or perhaps...because she thought they were alike?

To protect her companion, the Pureblood had faced a crowd of armed fighters. And this same vampire seemed to take his companion’s protection very seriously.

A secret goal led them to travel together. They were bond together. Maybe not by love, but by something just as strong.

Hermia nodded fervently.

“No...There are _like us.”_

.

.

.

.

.

.

He looked outside with care and wariness, his nostrils flaring, before sliding out of their hiding spot with caution. His golden eyes watched for his surroundings, lit by the warm and mysterious light of dusk, while his four other senses, enhanced, studied the atmosphere, looking for the slightest movement.

Everything was still. Watchful, he walked away swiftly and silently between the trees. His grey and white fur merged with the thin bushes and bare trunks, his legs, both light and steady, sunk in the snow in near-complete silence.

Thanks to his sharp nose, he found the trail of a rabbit far more easily by scent than by its trail in the snow. His steps led him to a clearing, and he suddenly stopped, in perfect silence. His golden pupils stared at the small fuzzy form who, unaware of him, munched the young buds of a scant bush.

Perfectly focused, he smelled the air, sensing the delicious aroma of the rabbit, its warm and living body waiting for his fangs. Today he could feed his companion and their cubs. But for one moment, the predator hesitated; there was an other scent, far stronger than the mouth-watering smell of his prey, saturating his nose - sharpened by hunger - and it instinctively made him cautious.

An old scent, but still present, acrid, spelling danger. A smell of death. Death given only out of desire to kill, not to feed. A smell of rage, of pure and useless violence.

A smell of blood.

He briefly bared his fangs, torn between the desire to flee this accursed place and to kill in a snap of teeth this stupid prey, who didn’t even feel how _tainted_ the clearing was. Then, with heavy heart, fighting against his instinct, he advanced slowly, silently, his head low, his fur on edge despite of himself. He couldn’t go back without food once more: his female, forced to stay hidden to feed their cubs, would get angry and snap at him.

And there was a question of instinct, of an old pack-leader pride...

The predator was still approaching, silent, phantom-like. Any mistake, and his unaware prey would at last sense the danger, and even him wouldn’t be able to catch up. Winter had eaten away his strength. But this smell, _this smell..._

He was still too far, he couldn’t pounce without the risk of seeing his prey escaping him, and once more he had to fight against his instinct compelling him to run away from this vile clearing. Suddenly, a branch creaked in the bushes. The rabbit shuddered and, without looking back, dashed away. The predator didn’t try to run after it, knowing that running in the snow would be a waste of strength. With a disappointed growl, he turned his head toward the nuisance who made him lose his catch of the day.

His fur stood even more when he saw the biped. His golden eyes widened and he bared his fangs, crouching, ready to flee...or to leap.

Unmoving, the biped watched him as well: his eyes looked at him without showing anything. Wary but intrigued, the predator sniffed the air carefully, suddenly surprised by the smell he sensed. The ordinary and foul human scent was mixed with another one, far more surprising, uncommon and yet familiar.

The disconcerting scent of another predator. A dominant male, yet one of those cruel and fearful bipeds...

The animal stood in wait for a few lingering moments, just like the human. At last the predator ceased to show his fangs and lifted his head, clearly surprised by the stoic attitude of his natural enemy. Then he turned away and walked away swiftly, so light in his step he almost looked unreal, like a spirit gliding on the snow. His golden eyes looked for the amethyst gaze of the human once more, then he disappeared in the woods.

Among predators, one understood another. And they respected each other.

.

.

 

Zero watched the bushes, barely moving after the wolf’s departure. The intensity of its golden pupils had put him off balance, and they both felt, accepted without really understanding, that the two of them, wolf and vampire, weren’t that different.

They shed blood by nature, in order to survive.

Zero walked into the clearing, fresh snow crunching under his feet. The temperature kept dropping with the sun’s disappearance. In the twilight, snow took a pinkish tint. He watched his surroundings, sparkling in frost, listened to the perfect silence reigning on this wild nature, which looked like it was sleeping under winter’s icy coat.

And yet he felt how disgusting and repulsing the surroundings were. His human eyes fell on white snow, but his vampire senses still distinguished the shadow of blood stains, signs of struggle. His ears, deafened by the silence, still heard remaining sickly vibrations, hateful screaming and moans of pain.

Out of his imagination, insidiously contaminated by Yuuki’s memories, it seemed to him that he could still hear the raw, desperate shriek of a wounded woman.

“ ** _Kaname!!!”_**

He closed his eyes and tensed, grimacing as if under a sudden, clinging pain. So much tears, so much suffering and sorrow...the clearing, as peaceful as it appeared, still bore the stigmas of a deadly fight, of the murder that followed. And it would probably bear them forever...

Zero forced his eyes open and looked at the silent landscape only he could make out. Yuuki’s memories, offered in shambles, gave a different meaning to the tranquil, still place. Here, a tree brought down not by nature but by an assassin’s furious gesture. Here, stones in rubble, what was left of a rock shattered by a powerful hand, hungry for violence...

And at his feet, just before him, the white and spotless snow was, for one moment, stained with a red circle, with a cooling body at its centre. And another one, still alive, shaking and suffering, begging and crying to not be left alone.

Zero turned his head, unable to bear any more of those bloody spectres, born out of memories that did not belong to him. He softly sighed. He had hoped that returning to the crime scene would lead him to find a clue, a detail, something more tangible than Yuuki’s deformed and nightmarish images. But while the clearing would carry forever the mark of the massacre it saw, it had no answer to give him.

No answer regarding the “how” and “why” of this attack that changed Yuuki’s life as well as his. That day had seen Kaname die. The heir of the most powerful Pureblood family to have ever lived. All of this despite the presence of his sister and several brilliant aristocrats. Who could have been so powerful, so cruel and so resolute to do this?

Ruka Souen, whose undying love for Kaname was a secret to nobody. A stubborn and skilful vampiress, who would have died a hundred times in order to protect the one she loved.

Akatsuki Kaien, the dark icon of the Cross Academy, and his wielding of elemental fire, famous among his kind to be able to turn anything to cinder in a few seconds.

Hanabusa Aidou, the idol of the ladies, whimsical and charming, yet also knew how to be as icy and sharp than the water crystals he could create out of thin air.

And finally, Seiren, unvanquished and inflexible. Seiren the ever-indifferent. Kaname’s bodyguard, the most faithful and the most cruel, maybe the most powerful of the escort. She disappeared after Kaname’s death, according to Yuuki. Presumably killed in action.

They all stood out in the Night Class because of their devotion to Kaname. Yuuki’s memories of them were still blurry: did they fight, or did they disappear in a crucial moment – suspecting an improbable betrayal? – Did they survive? Unable to remember this day without suffering, Yuuki refused to give more details, persuaded that she already _gave him_ everything she knew. Hence, Zero decided to wait until he was back to a more civilized country to use his connections and discover what happened to Kaname’s lieutenants.

But who was strong – and crazy – enough to fight two Purebloods, along with several young aristocrats, all of them gifted with powers defying imaginations? Who could possess the means to achieve such a goal?

Zero looked round the clearing, pensive: if an army of vampires had stepped in this snow, would he be able to sense it? If Purebloods had been here personally, in numbers, in these savage lands to execute Kaname and his sister, could it leave a trace in this wild, abandoned forest? And how could such a deployment get past the Association’s vigilance?

Was there really a person, or even an army in this world able to kill Kaname Kuran and maim Yuuki Kuran? And why, for the matter, leave her alive? How could someone take away from her the poignant memory of the fight and death of her love, while doing such a thing was barely possible even on the most insignificant human?

To erase a memory, when it was sealed with the red-hot iron brand of suffering and death, was most often impossible...

The sun had sunk past the horizon, and his surroundings were becoming grey and depressing. An icy gale began to blow and Zero, despite his vampiric resilience, shivered under it. He had to face the facts: he wouldn’t find anything here. The evidence, if it had even existed, had disappeared a long time ago. Only Yuuki’s chaotic memories remained, along with his own hunter’s clairvoyance to uncover the truth.

Heavy-hearted, Zero turned away, at least relieved to leave this place filling him with wariness because of stranger memories. Despite of himself, he could understand why Yuuki had refused to come with him.

.

.

.

.

“I finished my service, Miss. May I retire?”

She dismissed the butler with one gesture. He slipped out without a word. Standing in front of the hearth, her gaze was lost in the flames. The blazing light shone mysterious sparkles on her alabaster skin, her blonde hair adorned with shining reflections while her light and dreamy eyes were gleaming. In a corner of the room, a small travel bag awaited. She hadn’t even opened it since her return.

Out of the window of a small alcove, night and snow were falling again.

Slowly, Ruka Souen’s eyes slid to a door on her right. Hesitant at first, she finally opened it, crossing her arms before leaning on the door frame, her eyes locked on the bed which, along with a couch and an unlit wood-burner, was the only furniture of the room.

The last time she saw this bed, it was unmade, and under its cover dozed a young vampire, who had escaped death by miracle. Where was he now? What was he doing? He who kept cursing a certain Pureblood in his delirium, what had become of the call for help she had given him?

And this Pureblood, what of her? Would she reach her goal one day? Why did she fight like this, if everything was already lost? The young aristocrat sighed pensively. While she could understand this desire of vengeance, and even if she herself had loved Kaname Kuran deeply, she didn’t have the strength to avenge him. After all, she was nothing, nothing but a failed bodyguard, and who didn’t even have the right to redeem herself.

For Yuuki, in her anger and despair, had chased them all away, disowning them…

The vampiress closed her eyes, filled with the deepest pain she ever felt, and she had to fight with all her will, all her young Aristocrat pride to not stumble under the weight of shame and pain, in tears.

This was far too muddy to be nothing but an assassination. And Yuuki? In her quest for answers, to know why she was left alive, to kill the one who killed...wouldn’t she disappear as well?

Ruka bit her perfect lips to stop an instinctive distressed moan. The mere thought of losing another one of their beloved Pureblood darkened her eyes with intense sorrow.

“What are you trying to do, Yuuki-sama?”

.

.

“What are you trying to do, Yuuki-sama?”

The question echoed in the silent room, unanswered.

The memory shattered away, and Yori emerged of it as if from a strange and harrowing dream: feeling heavy, exhausted, cold. She blinked, pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of her own voice. Shaking, she put her pen away carefully and put her hands to her face, surprised to find them cold. How long had she been there?

Yori's fingers stroked her feverish eyelids, and she blew on her hands to warm them up, curled up on her chair. A lump in her throat, she looked at her work: on her desk, laid a mess of papers, notebooks and bound volumes. She didn’t remember writing or sketching in half of them. She shuddered, out of worry rather than cold. Sighing, she stood up slowly, half-surprised by her sudden dizziness. Out of breath, she fought to keep her eyes open and waited for her aplomb to come back.

She hadn’t eaten since last night and only slept for a couple of hours these last few days. Her body was aching as though she had run dozens of kilometres. All she wanted right now was a good meal, a warm bath and a full night sleep...

But the memories, good and bad, would they leave her alone? She doubted it, but couldn’t say if it worried her or not.

On her desk, a scribble drew her attention, and she stared at it despite of herself. With disconcerting ease, she heard the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth, the muffled sound of a snowstorm. From the depths of her memory, came up the perception of two pensive breaths, barely audible. Two feminine voices seemed to whisper in echo.

Without noticing it, Yori sat back, her gaze lost in contemplation of the sketch. In a corner of a barely-detailed room, in front of the fire, was Ruka Souen, their former Academy comrade. Full of this cold beauty that was her own, the young woman stared wordlessly her conversation partner, sitting on a windowsill.

Yuuki. Deep in thought, dignified, she seemed lost in the contemplation of the outside world. Her face was unseen, as it was often the case in Yori's sketches.

“ _Yuuki-sama...have you told him about...about what you discussed with me, a few months ago?”_

A secret, a shared regret. Another life, gone forever. Forgotten.

“ _No. No one knew but you...not even Kaname.”_

Heavy-hearted, Yori crossed her arms on her desk and rested her head on them, on the verge of tears. This secret was so heavy, so bitter, that even she hadn’t yet been able to put it into words.

“Tell me, Yuuki...I can understand your lies, all that you left unsaid...except for this one. Why didn’t you tell Zero? Why did you hide it from him?”

From the depths of her memory, Yuuki – or rather the illusion of her – seemed to shrug, made a few steps, full of dignity, then stopped. She put her hands on her face...and, silently, burst into tears. A brutal, harrowing thought, swept away everything else.

“ _What good would it have done? They’re_ _**dead** _ _, the both of them…!”_

Sorrow took over Yori. Her face full of tears, a knot in her stomach and her heart in a thousand pieces, she fell into a deep slumber.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said last week, this is the end of the first arc. I can't wait for you to read what comes next!  
> Happy New Year everyone!


	9. Chapter Six: Abysmally - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flight attendant voice*  
> We would like to inform our lovely readers that we are about to enter a zone of severe turbulence, which may have yet-unknown effects on your psyche. Please remember to grab your survival blankets and your best reviewing tools. Proceed at your own risks, and enjoy this chapter!

 

_**.** _

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The steel gates closed with a whirring sound, and the elevator rose silently. She looked critically at herself in the mirror on her right: with her grey-blue suit, her copper-blond hair in a bun, her simple but calculated make-up, she barely recognized herself.

She blended in completely. Perfect.

She took a deep breath, tightened her grip on her leather briefcase. Then the elevator stopped with a quiet ping, and the doors opened. Squaring her shoulders, she walked in a click of high heels, raised her chin and greeted the secretary with a nod. When she saw her, the young woman in a dark suit jumped from her chair and bowed respectfully, before moving from her desk to walk to a double door at the end of the corridor. She knocked dutifully, said a few words to the person inside.

“Your daughter is here, Mister Wakaba.”

After a long pause, a deep and sharp voice answered:

“Let her in.”

The secretary moved aside and invited her to come in. Then the young employee bowed twice, once for the newcomer and another, deeper, for the man sitting at the desk at the other side of the room and, finally, slipped out without a sound.

The door shut with a small shuffling sound, and a heavy silence set in. Yori waited without saying a word, proud-looking despite the high heels she seldom wore. The entire wall on her left was taken up by a large glass pane, with a view of the neon-illuminated city, still brushed by some rays of the setting sun. Without paying attention to the view or the refined luxury of the room, Yori stared at the man in silence, currently giving his attention to a very thick report. After a long minute, she greeted him.

“Good evening, father.”

He looked up at her from above his glasses, before going back to his report. At last, he signed the document’s last page, pressed a button on his left. Immediately, a door opened at the back of the room; a man of Yori’s age appeared, walked quickly to the desk and bowed before receiving the report.

“Give this to my assistant, then you can go home.”

“Yes, Mister Wakaba.”

The man bowed again and politely thanked his superior. About to leave, he saw, at last, the young woman and paled when he recognized her. He bowed once more, deeper to compensate his lack of attention, then slipped off without further ado.

Saito Wakaba finally left his seat, went around his steel desk, as big as a small car, and motioned his daughter to come closer to him. Yori obeyed, covering easily the ten metres between them.

“Sayori, I’m very happy you could come. You look well.”

Both his voice and expression were barely warmer than when he talked to his secretaries. Affable, Yori stopped at a respectful distance and did the mandatory bow.

“It’s me who should thank you for receiving us so late. I suppose your day was tiresome.”

To her surprise, her father walked to her and opened his arms, giving her a stiff embrace that he normally only gave to her brothers. She did her best to keep her composure and looked around her politely.

“Am I the first?”

Wakaba’s amiable smile became tenser, and he shook his head apologetically.

“Your brothers weren’t invited today.”

He moved away, and instead of inviting her to sit in the seat facing his desk, he welcomed her to join him on the square of armchairs to the side, near the window pane. While she was more and more surprised, Yori's expression remained courteous, and she sat in one of the luxurious black leather chairs, her back straight. Her father offered her something to drink, which she refused politely, and he sat in front of her. He put his cell phone next to him, crossed his hands in front of him and looked at her in silence. Yori didn’t blink, waiting for him to speak first, as he always did. But seconds went by, in the deepest silence.

“How is your business going, Father?”

“Very well, thank you. And you, how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

She could hardly give another answer. For what it would have changed...

“How is Mother?”

This time, Wakaba’s stare became warmer.

“Good, very good even. Being a grandmother suits her completely.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Yori allowed herself a slight smile. The Wakaba family had grown last spring, and she slightly regretted not being able to see her niece and god-daughter more often; her parents – her younger brother and his wife – lived on the other side of the country.

Since the silence lingered still, Yori decided to stop with the platitudes.

“Why did you want to see me, Father?”

“Why summon me like this?” would have been more accurate, regarding this peremptory call Yori received yesterday from an assistant of her father. But she chose not to look too defensive. The last time they met like this, without her brothers or her mother, was just after she officially revealed her career choice. For her father, who had desired for her to take the head of one of his branches, to learn that she wished to write for a living and not just as a mere hobby had been a true disappointment, the root of several violent arguments. An experience she could have done without.

“I heard that you had a serious bad patch recently. I was worried.”

When she went out to publish her first writings, Yori spontaneously chose a publishing house that wasn’t controlled by her father by any means. And yet she suspected that a man as influential as him knew how to get sensible information, even from his rivals and their collaborators.

“Indeed,” she conceded. “I’m thankful for your consideration. But I got over it, and I’m hopeful I can turn in a new manuscript early next year.”

“I am glad to hear it, Sayori. Do you have other projects after this?”

He looked genuinely concerned, even _curious_. Yori kept herself from frowning.

“A few. But I can’t tell you anything, I have an exclusivity clause with my publisher.”

Wakaba gestured that he understood.

“So, what would you think about joining the Fushiba publishing house? I recently acquired all of their market shares, and their CEO is about to retire. Between your brilliant business studies and your writing experience, you would be perfect for this post.”

Yori couldn’t hide her surprise, and her father, seeing this as a positive sign, relaxed slightly.

“You would be in familiar waters and you would gain in influence. And you could still write if you wanted to.”

The young woman didn’t answer immediately, as if she was weighing the pros and cons. The Fushiba publishing house covered numerous genres, from fiction to children’s literature, but it was mostly known to publish press darlings: financial, political or scandal sheets.

“Thank you for thinking of me for this job, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

Her father’s smile froze. Yet he added, in a more affable voice.

“You would be able to make a living off your art.”

“I already do, Father.”

And they both knew that the post in question had nothing to do with her writing. As a CEO, her tasks would mainly be politic and commercial, and the few manuscripts she could review probably wouldn’t even be hers.

"According to your rating on the best-sellers lists, I have a few doubts about it, Sayori."

“I live a simple life, what I earn is enough. I’m not a best-selling author, that’s true, but I never intended to write with this purpose in mind, Father.”

She concluded in an incisive tone, hoping to close the subject. Neither he nor she would back up, and she didn’t want to recreate the argument they’d had when she decided to become a writer.

“Could you at least think about it? You can give me an answer at the end of the week.”

“Father, my mind is already made up.”

They quieted. Wakaba’s icy stare threw daggers at her, and she did the same. At last, he lowered his eyelids and let out an annoyed sigh.

“And to think that when you married this man, I hoped that he would get you to listen to reason. Was I wrong about this as well?”

Yori shuddered, surprised to see him bring up this subject. She looked down on her left hand and fidgeted with the platinum alliance adorning her ring finger.

“He didn't marry me for what he wanted to change in me, but for who I really am.”

She smiled sincerely, for the first time since she had entered the room.

“We’re both very lucky.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Yori waited a few seconds, then stood up and bowed deeply.

“Thank you for seeing me, Father. And thank you for your offer.”

Without waiting for an answer she would probably never get, she took her briefcase and walked to the door in a dignified click of heels.

“Sayori?”

She stopped and, holding her breath, faced him again, her face a mask of politeness.

“I want you to know that it’s very hard for me, but I respect your choices.”

Yori hesitated before nodding. Despite those pretty words, she found it useless and uncalled for that he insisted so much on their diverging opinions. Yet she said nothing, not wanting to reopen the hostilities while a long journey home awaited her.

“Yes, Father.”

“Just do your best to avoid a scandal like the one seven years ago. Your mother’s health is delicate, and she wouldn’t stand such childishness once more.”

Yori stood frozen.

“...Childishness? You’re talking about...my hospitalisation?”

She couldn’t believe her ears. He dared to refer to _that_ in such a way?

“You chose your path as you intended, without our support and despite the brilliant career I had laid out for you. As you wish, Sayori. It probably ate your mind and health away, but you reap what you sow. I want you to know that to preserve our family reputation, I stay informed of all of your decisions. I won’t tolerate another misdemeanour.”

“How can you talk about this in these terms, Father? May I remind you that you’re the one who asked for my hospitalisation back then, and you could have been more discrete about it!”

“The press already had a field day after your first misbehaviour. Since you’re my daughter, I had no choice but to act openly. But what I did back then was for your own good, Sayori. If you want proof, just look at yourself. Just a few years after this bad spot, you’re finally a respected woman of letter, happily married.”

Stunned, Yori barely bit back the stinging answer burning her lips. Her writing career was already on good tracks when she went through this “bad spot”. As for her marriage, she found her father incredibly hypocritical: he acted as if he was responsible for it, but he had never been very enthusiastic – quite the contrary – about the man she had chosen.

But nevermind. Her father was – as always – convinced of the legitimacy of his actions, and to argue about such a sensitive subject wouldn't do any good. After a short breath, she bowed again and turned on her heels.

Her father’s voice, heavy with disappointment, followed her to the door.

“I hope that one day, like your brothers, you will realize how much family matters.”

“You told me enough times when I was young, Father: I am not like my brothers.”

And, without looking behind her, she left the room proudly.

 

.

 

The coolness of the night air pulled her from her thoughts and, dumbfounded, she looked upon the still dense crowd swarming on the square in front of the Wakaba Corp. She closed her eyes, took a slow and deep breath, before looking up to the darkened sky. The sun had set, but as usual in this noisy and polluted environment, there wasn’t a star in sight.

She turned and stared at the Wakaba tower, one of the tallest buildings in the business district. Despite the late hour, numerous lights were still on. The headquarters of a firm like her father's, always communicating with branches from the whole world, never quite slept. She suddenly felt very tiny at the foot of this monster of steel and glass and felt slightly dizzy.

She walked a few steps, without paying attention to the crowd. She couldn’t help but replay in her head the previous power struggle. Had she made the right decision? Could things have been different? Maybe she shouldn’t have been so adamant. She could have said that she would think about his offer which, she sadly knew, was but a way for her father to express his _benevolence_ toward her.

She shook her head, and her shoulder slumped: no, there was nothing to regret. During her studies, she had always played the part of the perfect little girl, to become the bright, clever and yet obedient businesswoman her father expected her to be. But it hadn’t been enough, and she had never achieved happiness chasing this ideal, forever out of reach.

At least, now, she was satisfied with what she was doing. And that was what mattered the most…

“Madam?”

She was pulled from her thoughts to see a man in a grey suit at her side. He had been in her husband’s service for years, and he bowed respectfully.

“Your husband sent me. He’s been back from his business trip abroad since noon and would have liked to come in person, but a family matter held him back at the last moment. He tasked me to drive you home.”

Gracefully, the man – a vampire – showed her the black limousine, parked a bit further up on the side of the road. She held her breath, surprised, and tried to hide her blush.

Despite all the time she spent alongside him, _he_ still managed to surprise her...

“Oh. But I already have my train ticket.”

“Indeed, but the Master thought that your journey back home would be more pleasant this way.”

Tired, she gave up protesting, nodded to the butler and walked to the black limousine, trying to not pay attention to the few passers-by ogling the vehicle. Two young women elbowed each other, sharing a surprised look. Walking past them, Yori couldn’t help but overhear their muttering.

“She’s so classy...is she famous?”

“Wait! Isn’t she...Sayori Wakaba?”

“The writer? But she never appears in public since her depression!”

“Her rehab, you mean! But it was how long ago...five years?”

“More! I didn’t picture her like this. She’s so gorgeous. Really, having money solves all your problems...”

Yori thanked the butler in a whisper as he civilly opened the door, and she sat on the black leather seat. The door shut quietly, and finally, silence took over. Sheltered behind the blackened glass, she threw her head back and allowed herself a big sigh. Annoyed by her hair clip, she untied her tight bun, which had demanded so much work, and massaged her scalp with relief.

“Bad spot”, “rehab”, “burnout”, “depression”...the words to describe what she went through seven years ago were numerous – and were all far from the truth. Every time she published a new book, the tabloids brought back this story to make some easy money off it, but she had long stopped being bothered by it.

On the nearby seat, she saw a card sealed with a well-known symbol. With a slight smile, she broke the wax seal, opened it.

_._

“ _Awaiting your swift return, Mrs Aidou,_

_Thank you for accepting my humble assistance.”_

.

She looked critically at the wood and leather of the limousine, one of the most costly models. “Humble”, huh?

With pink cheeks, she put the card back on the seat. She waited for the butler to get behind the wheel and into the traffic, still dense despite the late hour.

“How long will it take?”

“About two hours, Madam.”

Half the time she would have spent if she had come back by train, and with tranquillity to boot. She nodded and appreciated her luck.

Even if she had had to travel all this way for so little, after all...

“I restocked the mini bar, if you feel hungry, Madam.”

Knowing his foresight, said mini bar probably contained a king's feast. But she was not hungry.

“Thank you. Let me know when we’ll arrive, please.”

“Very well, Madam.”

She pressed a button on the touchscreen in the seat, and the shutter between passenger and chauffeur closed, putting a tinted window between them. She opened her briefcase, saw her notebook, hesitated, but finally decided not to turn it on. She didn’t feel like writing in these conditions; she needed calm and solitude. Without taking into account what her father had said about a possible informer in her entourage. She didn’t feel safe enough to start writing memories in the butler’s presence. Whether she liked it or not, she was approaching some of the most painful events...she couldn’t risk having a _dizzy spell_ anywhere else than in her library, alone and safe.

Putting her apprehension aside, she finally grabbed an old leather-bound notebook. When she opened it, its old smell of vellum soothed her, as always. She browsed the pages without thinking, covered in sketches and texts. The stories and the narrators followed each other without the slightest chronology. Back then, when she started, she wrote as the memories came...maybe she should have carried on like this, instead of putting the effort of organizing these chronicles as if she was going to give them to someone to read. It would never happen, so what was the use?

Years ago, she realized that everything she wrote faded slowly from her memories, as if the images and sounds haunting her could dilute in the ink of her pen, putting her at peace. Thus, writing had become her therapy as much as her hobby.

Despite everything, she just had to reread said manuscripts, even years later, to have them temporary come back to her, as clear as the first day. And tonight, she felt the curious need to relive some passages.

Or rather, to resurrect _her_ , for a few hours... she missed _her_ so much.

While the car dashed along the highway, lulling her with its soft whirr, Yori began to read. With the words, memories that did not belong to her awoke, memories that, by some game of fate, had become part of her.

Memories she tried to write down, seven years ago, putting her mental health at risk.

Zero’s memories. _Yuuki_ ’s memories.

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_**A hoarse roar. Weak, shivering in anguish, quivering with want.** _

 

Fangs pierced her flesh, and tears welled in her eyes, traitorous, betraying her pain and her frustration. Blood oozed slowly from her wrist, and mechanically her lips closed hungrily on the crimson trail, while her tongue tasted it with haste. But her own blood could never sate her, and while her mind already knew this, her instinct just barely grasped it. Painfully.

She moaned at the attempted deception, nervous, and clenched her fist until it hurt. Now that she had sunk her teeth into living flesh – even if it was her own – her hunger was soothed temporarily, and she closed her eyes, still trying to control herself.

Trying to remember how it had come to this. Why she was sprawled on the wooden floor, surrounded by darkness, her pitiful and shivering body betrayed by her devouring thirst.

It was for Kaname. Kaname. _**Kaname** _!

She hit the floor with her clenched fist, whimpering furiously. She had sworn, but why couldn’t she keep such a simple promise? She who wanted nothing but to be faithful, why did her body refuse to obey such a noble vow?

She was thirsty, so thirsty that her whole being, body and soul, was quivering. But Kaname wasn’t there...

She hid her face between her arms. On the other side of the window, the opalescent moon rays stroked her long ebony hair. Because of her chronic madness, she didn’t even see the point of untangling them, and their once soft and silky feel was but a memory as they spread on the cold wooden floor. She whimpered once more and burst into tears, full of rage, more frustrated than she had ever been.

_Blood, she needed blood…_

The word kept coming back to her foggy conscience. Hallucinated, she whispered nonsense sentences, torn between her vampiric faithful vow and the natural need, imperious, instinctive, burning her insides. It had been forever since her fangs obeyed her, distorting her perfect lips in a horrible famished sneer. She felt like a beast, and while it horrified her in her rare glimpses of lucidity, she just didn’t care the rest of the time.

_**Blood! For heaven’s sake!** _

Standing in front of the table, without memory of ever getting up, she grabbed the fresh water carafe with a shaking hand; she splashed, more than filled up, a lonely cup on a plate. From a glass jar, she grabbed a handful of pills and threw them into the clear water. Nervously, her fingernails screeched on the crystal while she waited for the pills to dissolve. Soon, she couldn’t bear it anymore and brought the still-melting mixture to her dry lips.

She took several sips, swallowed noisily the barely-dissolved pills, almost choking herself. Then, violently, she threw the half-full cup on the ground, where it joined other pieces of shattered crystal. A beastly groan escaped her blazing throat: she couldn’t stand the Blood Tablets anymore! Pills and fresh water, fresh water and pills, again and again, from dawn to dusk and from dusk till dawn! They might nourish her, keep her barely alive, but she couldn’t stand this tasteless, lukewarm liquid supposed to replace the tempting essence every vampire sought.

She dreamt of a pulsating vein, trapped under soft defenceless skin, a warm and liquid abundance, tasty and delicious on her tongue...

Her crazed eyes threw daggers at the fluid spreading on the floor, shining red under the moon. It was but an ersatz nutriment, a shameful hoax that didn’t fool any of her senses for a split second. The artificial, bland savour, the heavy sweet scent, even its colour, more purple than red, betrayed the deception. To drink it was meaningless.

It was a lie, a crime, a betrayal to the senses. Who could go back to earthly food after tasting the wonderful Nectar, the drink of the Gods! She would rather die than to drink this horror once more.

“ _ **Please, let this all end!”**_

With a cry of agony, she slid her talon-like hands in her tangled hair, tugged hard as if to tear it out. She was panting, sweating, feeling nauseous, her heart pounding in her chest. Deep within her, she felt the beast roaring and clawing, cornered by thirst and the desire to sink its teeth into juicy flesh. It was pounding in her skull. It seemed to her that something was screaming at her to give up this vow of abstinence, childish and insane, to break this damned window and run through the night until she found prey, anything or anyone as long as it had veins and blood inside them.

Her hand pressed on her iron-burnt throat, she had a frustrated sigh, sounding more like an animal roar. It was so stupid! Faithfulness was a rare quality among vampires, even less so when _food_ was concerned!

She moaned again, louder, hungrier, crazier. And suddenly she quieted. Curled up on herself, holding her breath, wide-eyed, she listened, all her senses on alert. And once more she heard it. Light steps on the stairs.

He was here, he was coming!

She smiled a demented smile when she finally smelled the delicious aroma preceding him. The perfume was so wonderful that she almost fainted in primal joy. Then, in a flash of lucidity, she began to shake with terror. He couldn’t see her like this... he couldn’t! She was so vile, so animal-looking, he would be disgusted by her!

He couldn’t!

But when the door of the darkened room opened, letting in the golden light of the corridor chandelier, she had already pounced on him. He didn’t move when, as quick as lightning, as swift as a gush of wind, she put her arms around his neck and, as a welcome gesture, sank her sharp teeth into it.

“Good evening, Yuuki.”

Was his voice mocking, tender, indifferent? Did his brown, crimson-tinted eyes betray his pity, or his anger?

What did it matter? On her dry tongue blood was finally flowing, in a tumultuous and burning flow. _**His blood** _. She swallowed, again and again, in bliss. She had imagined it for so long, dreamt of it so many times! But all her pondering the past week didn’t compare to this incredible savour she finally tasted.

The woman dying of thirst, who would have sold her soul for just a glass of water, had just been offered the entire oasis.

As she was still drinking, a vampiress led by her most primal instinct, her hands slid slowly, almost unconsciously, into his hair. Her mind in another dimension, soft and painless, she felt with bliss his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Masculine, protective. Possessive.

She who, a few minutes earlier, was nothing but a small animal, insane and broken, left alone on the floor, everything was there for her resurrection. Like a dried-up flower tasting rain at last, she felt her body soothing the pain, awakening to other consciousnesses. Her mind, like the branches of a tree blooming in spring, shook itself up, grew, spread at last to perceptions other than suffering and thirst. She purred with satisfaction, her lips still sealed on his neck as she drank less hungrily, savouring the vital essence he was giving her. With swift tenderness, he took her hand and bit it too, took barely a sip, as if to merely taste the vampiress, rather than out of thirst.

At last, she stopped, sated. This true and delicious blood was running through her, warming her icy limbs, giving her back her strength, reanimating her mind that such abstinence had shrouded with madness. With some lingering regret, her lips brushed the bite with one breath, as it closed. Then, after she basked one last time in his aroma, her mahogany eyes looked at him.

 

She finally realized that they were lying on the floor: she had leapt at his throat so violently that he had fallen. He had probably done nothing to stop it. Even today, she didn’t think herself strong enough to overpower him.

The situation reminded her of the first time she had knowingly bitten him. How long ago was it? A year... and since, every time she sank her fangs in his flesh, the experience was renewed, each time more blinding, more delicious. Sometimes, she even thought she was going to die…

To die of pleasure.

She got lost in his eyes, and for a long time, they did nothing but look at each other, him on the floor, she above him, her long brown hair sliding like a shadow on her elbow, shining with renewed life on the sumptuous wooden floor. He raised a hand and, softly, stroked her cheek.

“You’re crying,” he whispered.

Not paying any attention to this detail, she sighed and smiled faintly.

“You’re back.”

As if these words could excuse her tears... but Kaname seemed satisfied by this answer. He smiled back and, with his hand sliding over her neck, he claimed her lips. With a moan, she gave in to his will, all her mind and body turned toward this other desire, delicious and captivating, slowly consuming her.

Outside, a storm was rising.

“Kaname...”

With a thrust of the hips, he switched their positions, and she bit back a moan of pleasure when she felt the weight of his body against hers. Their lips, their hands, every one of their gestures got lost in a communion even more pressing than their previous union, sealed in blood. Thankfully for them, thirst wasn’t a vampire’s only instinct. And tonight, they paid tribute to this ecstasy, this devouring passion, maybe the only one they

She shivered. At last, his unmistakable voice came to her, turning her upside down, almost as powerfully as one sip of his blood. Her heart, quieted by her recent feast, began to pound again, filled with another passion just as imperious as the previous one. Swiftly, she grabbed his hand and pressed it on her cheek, her eyes piously closed. Somewhere in the night, there was a strange and distant jingling sounhad in common with humankind.

“...Kaname…!”

In a roar, the storm smashed on the glass, and the dream shattered away.

She woke up with a scream.

 

  
 

.

“ **...Kaname!”**

Yuuki leapt awake. Her sleepy whisper was still too loud, too revealing to her enhanced ears. Had she still been human, she surely would have blushed. But the times when she thought she had to justify every sigh of pleasure were far away...

In a daze, she looked around her with alarm; she didn’t recognize her surroundings. It was dark. Her heart was pounding, its beating covering the horrible howling wind. The ground was shaking and the entire structure around her was creaking. The high-pitched jingling sound rang again: a bell. On the other side of the window, a dark mass passed by at high speed, then was gone.

Finally, her memory came back to her: she was on a train. The howling wind which had stirred her awake was only caused by another passing train. Nothing threatening.

She swallowed hard and breathed deeply, gathering her thoughts together in a few seconds. Exhausted, she had merely wanted to lie on her bunk and meditate for a bit. Carelessly, she had fallen asleep, hadn’t even reacted when the train left the station. Pitiful, coming from someone who had to be wary of everything...

She touched with surprise the coat laid over her knees: she didn’t remember covering herself with it. It would have been useless, for she didn’t fear the cold anymore, and only a true blizzard could have made her shiver. She had only been wearing a hooded coat out of discretion. In Nordic countries, human people would have been suspicious of a stranger walking around without any warm clothes.

Her gaze fell on the other bunk, and a slight panic overcame her when she found it empty. She immediately stood up and put a hand on the tucked bedspread. She was relieved to find it cold, just as the rest of the furniture. It meant she had been alone in this compartment for a long time.

Zero hadn’t witnessed her lapse in her sleep. Who knew what she whispered in her dreams... this thought gave Yuuki an unpleasant feeling. She had to be more careful...

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of what she may relive so intensely in her dreams. But those memories were hers and hers alone. Now, she kept them jealously. No one else had the right to know them…

Blinking suddenly, she fell back on her bunk, curled up on her herself. Her heart was still pounding incredibly, insanely fast, and her breath became ragged; but it had nothing to do with fear, she understood. She shivered, but the icy atmosphere wasn't to blame. Hesitantly, she brushed her lips and felt without real surprise the pearly fangs beginning to grow. Clenching her teeth, she took her face between her hands.

“This is not the time...”

Somewhere within her, taking advantage of her unconsciousness and her lack of vigilance, something had awoken. Its blazing eyes open, on the prowl, the _beast_ growled in frustration, its claws scraping the floor, its predatory instincts on the lookout...Yuuki felt it, and wouldn’t be able to control herself for long.

The young vampire leapt on her bag in a corner of the compartment, searched frantically through it until she found the small box. She took some pills and immediately swallowed them, trying to ignore the horrible acrid taste they left on her tongue. She took a long sip of water from her flask and sat back on her bunk, her clenched fists on her knees. And, in agony, she waited.

Holding her breath to prevent any smell to get to her, she focused on the mechanical “clack-clack” of the train on the rails. Outside, the wind was howling. When a human voice came from the corridor, she had to fight with all her will to refrain from storming out of her compartment and pounce on this helpless _prey_.

Her thoughts were tangled, ran through her mind like water between fingers. She tried to keep only one of them: to stay here, without moving. She had to.

Slowly, her heart began to quiet, her breath became more regular. The need became less pressing, less cruel, and came back to proportions she could easily control. She could stop focusing her mind on the mere fact of staying still, and let her thoughts wander, rocked by the train.

A few Blood Tablets, a few minutes and a bit of self-control...that was all she needed today when thirst became too strong. It had been a long, traitorous journey to reach the point when she could finally control her urges. The withdrawal hadn’t been easy, but her search for a balance between a substitute like the Blood Tablets and Kaname’s blood, which she had always wanted to ration to speed up the process. The ordeal she just relived through a dream had only been the first on a long and painful road.

A struggle against herself that lasted for almost two years. But to be worthy of Kaname – the first Pureblood to have renounced to human blood – and their goals of coexistence between human and vampires, she had been ready for anything. Today, she could resist the instinctive call that moved every Creature of the Night. Forever.

At least, she hoped she could?

That night, the full moon looked down on the monochrome plain, glistening with frost...

.

.

He slammed the door on his way in, locked it in a last flash of lucidity. His panting echoed strangely, as if muffled by the narrow room he hid in. His crazed gaze caught the whiteness of a small sink, and he ran to it, opened the tarnished tap. Water splashed on his coat, but he didn’t care as he ran his shaking hands under the icy trickle before splashing his face with it several times.

His heart pounded in his chest, deafening in his ears; the constant rocking of the train was nothing but a murmur behind the drumming of his blood. His eyes were burning feverishly behind his closed eyelids, and he was shaking wildly. He kept splashing his face, mindless of the cold numbing his hands and tingling his skin.

Outside, the gush of wind of a passing train rocked the compartment, throwing the staggering young man against the opposite side of the sink. The shock dizzied him even more, but he blessed this mist taking over his mind for a few seconds. It allowed him to restrain himself from the indisputable and striking desire that had taken over him.

Unfortunately, his respite was short-lived, and his primal instinct began to torture him once again, voraciously. He bit his lip, let himself slide to the floor and waited, panting, focusing on the metallic rattle of the train, then the chiming sound of the water still running. He waited, mute, out of breath.

He waited for it to _go away._

A voice came to his sharpened senses, and he restrained himself from running outside, where two innocent passengers were passing by. Chatting softly, they didn’t know that on the other side of the wooden door, a being was curled up who could kill them _with just one bite..._

At the mere thought of it, of blood spurting on the old tarnished wood, crystallising on the frozen window, he thought he could almost feel his fangs double in size. In agony, he curled up on himself, biting back a cry of despair and dismay. He only let out a long, muffled moan that got lost in the rumble. His insides were burning him, and his needle-filled throat tortured him relentlessly, blazing with an animalistic and instinctive call. Already, he heard, horrified, the whispering flow of the other passengers’ blood, tempting him with its vitality from one side of the wagon to the other. He was never going to be able to stop himself!

And finally, it was _gone_.

The pain in his guts, his throat painfully clenched, the ever-growing bloodlust on his tongue...everything faded away, and disappeared.

Panting, incredulous, his heart still pounding, he stayed still a long time, thinking it was but a mere respite, before even greater torture...

But nothing came. Only a slight and unpleasant nausea remained, as well as a strange frustration, like a normal thirst one would have quenched by drinking large gulps of water. Still staggering, he got up and leaned on the sink, catching his breath slowly, his head empty.

Zero couldn’t believe it. This fit, the most sudden and violent he ever experienced, had passed on its own.

He looked up and saw the amethyst gaze of his reflection, sunken-eyed and stunned. What could have happened? Unable to sleep in the racket of the train, he went outside at the back of the wagon to get some fresh air, the cold hardly an inconvenience for him. Out there, there was nothing but snow and the full moon, no human, absolutely nothing to awaken his thirst. And yet, the urge had been so brutal he almost fell over the guardrail. His lucidity weakening, he had run to the nearest bathroom to lock himself in it, praying to find no one on his way.

With a fit this strong, he had had little hope as for how it would end. And yet here he was, sound of mind again, entirely human-looking, and nobody had been hurt...or worse. He who knew but one – bloody – remedy to a fit this strong. He was dumbfounded.

Pensively, he closed the tap and wiped his still-feverish face. Sweat pearled on his temples and on his neck, sticking his anthracite hair to his skin, and his canines were a normal length, though slightly too sharp for a human; the last trace of a fit that hadn’t been a nightmare. Both relieved and worried by such a reversal, he sighed, his amethyst eyes turning to steel.

What could it mean?

.

.

.

__

.

.

.

 

The crowd was dense in this early afternoon. The passers-by, in a rush, indifferent, crossed each other in a chaotic and frenetic, yet perfectly timed, ballet. People were hurrying in the corridors and platforms, always too narrow to face such crowds, but few people paid it any mind.

Her emotionless eyes were lost gazing on the dozens of passengers. They came and went, without a purpose, watching some bystander, neglecting another.

There was noise everywhere. The chatting of the crowd, the few families calling out to each other, the rattling of the wagons, of the trolleys, the high-pitched whistles of the inspectors, the deep rumble of the departing trains. She winced when a locomotive screeched as it braked on arrival, causing all the metallic surfaces around to vibrate. Like a dying breath, the old machine spat a jet of steam, while its string of wagons vomited yet another flow of hurried travellers on the platform.

Human racket, machine laments. Pulsating flesh, metal and alloy. She briefly closed her eyes, her senses overwhelmed by so much agitation. Around her, the moving mass of passers-by unconsciously gave her space, as if her mere presence demanded privacy.

When she reopened her eyes, her brown irises looked up to the vault of the station, made of glass, metal and stone, an ageless building erected ages before her birth. The shy winter sun bathed them in its last rays, giving a surreal glow to the overcrowded platforms. In this place where everyone was in a hurry, indifferent, never mind their ages or where they came from, the stranger felt this sliver of a bygone era deep within her. An era when steam locomotives were common, where the cell phones one could glimpse in the hand of some people did not even exist in the imagination.

At the edge of the faraway and uncivilized lands of the North, in this station that had seen centuries of History and millions of travellers, time seemed to stand still. At the crossroads between the savage universe of Klasdic, the wind-battered city, the village of Neidchmart, small heart of a new Resistance, and the modern world where she was born.

This world that she was about to come back to. _Alone_. At this thought, she felt her new-found serenity trickle away from her mind like water. A lump in her throat, she closed her eyes again.

In the heart of the anonymous crowd, she remained unseen, except by a few children. Clinging to their parents’ hands or to a relative’s coat, they stared with a sudden interest at this strange lady who, unlike the adults, did not seem in a rush to run away from somewhere or to go someplace else. A frozen silhouette in the middle of the agitation, she called out to them with her transcending beauty and something impressive, captivating. Silently, they stared at this strange and precious apparition: her mahogany hair so long that it brushed her hips without tangling, her pink marble complexion, perfect, like the statues from their history books. Her shiny brown eyes, devoid of all make-up, made them shiver and cling a bit more in their mothers' skirts, filled with a vague instinctive fear, laced with a powerful fascination.

This lady, so beautiful, so mysterious, was like a candle flame: shining amidst the darkness, wonderfully warm but burning if one came too close. One could only touch her with their eyes. This was what their young conscience was telling them, still devoid of knowledge and bias.

The man who joined her finally convinced the bravest to go on their way. Next to this seemingly-serene woman, the stranger seemed different but just as troubling. Looking around him gravely and warily, were dark purple eyes, inquisitive from under his strange grey hair. He could have been a punk rebel with his long black coat and his numerous metal earrings adorning even his left auricle, and yet he was like a bodyguard, both submissive and protective.

While the woman, dreamy-eyed, looked like an ember under the ashes, ready to start the fire again, her companion was reminiscent of the cold and intransigent blade of a knife ready to be drawn at any instant. The way he watched his surroundings, discreet but alert, scared the young witnesses. Only one of them glimpsed the holster under his coat. As he walked away with his mother, the child couldn’t help but look back several times, fascinated by the silver gun.

A knight, he thought. A knight and his Princess…

.

 

Pretending not to see the few innocent eyes on him, Zero spoke:

“The only direct train going south left an hour ago. If you don’t want any stops or connections, we’re stuck here until tomorrow morning.”

Yuuki watched him, impassive, looking lost in thought.

“Let’s go home,” she had simply said a few days ago, when Zero came back empty-handed from his quest for information in the lands where Kaname Kuran had been killed. The Pureblood had stayed in the manor – a secondary home, lent by one of Yuuki’s acquaintances for Zero to get back on his feet again – There, she had thought deeply about a starting point for their hunt. She decided they had to leave this remote place and come back to civilization, in order to gather rumours. They certainly would be numerous, after the disappearance of one of the greatest Purebloods of their time. Zero thought Yuuki would try to contact some of Kaname’s allies, but the Pureblood had remained silent on their whereabouts or their identities. Zero chose to wait it out and simply organized their stealthy return to more civilized lands.

For Yuuki had survived by a miracle and, if it came to be known, what were the odds for her brother’s assassin returning to the hunt? From this perspective, Zero hoped he could come back to his own allies while staying off the radar. Once they were back on familiar grounds, they would not be able to hide their presence anymore, but their investigation would be made easier.

Zero waited, expecting an answer from Yuuki, even one vague and monosyllabic as, more and more often, her words had recently become. But the vampiress remained silent, gazing out.

“What do we do?” he asked again. “I’ve been here before. If you want to wait for tomorrow’s train, I can find us a safe hotel for the night.”

Still no answer. Frowning, Zero ended up following Yuuki’s frozen gaze and finally saw the old television screen behind one of the station’s counters. He listened carefully, as Yuuki was probably doing, focusing his attention on the sputtering sound of the old television. On its screen was a great amphitheatre. A number of people sat inside it, and some of them were screaming indistinctively in their microphones, in a heated debate. Zero recognized them to be the legislative or military authorities of some country, stuck in an argument plaguing every civilized nation.

A voiceover, probably a news reporter, could be heard atop the voluntarily unintelligible discussions.

“...While the situation keeps going from bad to worse, the elusive Night Council remains silent to the solicitations of several human governments. The legendary Hunter Association, whose existence was, as we know today, known to the highest international figures, keeps claiming it to be nothing but the executive branch of the Council ruling the Night World until now...”

Zero restrained himself from sighing with frustration. Ever since the vampires’ existence had been unveiled a few months ago – a red-letter day, already called the Revelation Day in some circles – everyone seemed to expect someone else to handle the crisis.

The Night Council, composed of the highest vampire aristocrats and a few Purebloods, was torn apart by inner divisions, and their parleys with the human government were nothing but a long, unproductive and tensed hassle. The Hunter Association seemed reluctant to join any side, and its members had been ordered to "play dead". Ever since the beginning of the scandal, Zero simply killed any Level E he found, but also punished the vampire-born taking advantage of the chaos to cause trouble among humankind. The young man was surprised that their actions hadn't already caused a general panic, which could become bloody and out of control.

“ _...We still haven’t received any news from Fœdus Aurorae, the unofficial delegation who contacted the UN shortly after the Revelation. The calls to the resumption of negotiations broadcast by the press are becoming scarcer...”_

Zero flinched. During his stay in the distant Northern lands, where electricity was a luxury and media non-existent, he had thought it normal to be without news from this “unofficial delegation”. Yet, this lack of information apparently hadn’t been caused by his remote location.

 _Fœdus Aurorae._ “The Pact of Dawn”. Anonymous people, from the Night World and human civilisation alike, according to the rumours, who for months had campaigned for the creation of a new era of peace.

Like most of his kind, Zero welcomed this delegation, who sought to create a common ground with the worldwide human population, with both curiosity and wariness. They had even started negotiations with human governments, revealing a lot of information about the Night World and its denizens, in the much-contested objective to describe the new hated vampire race. They had but one goal: to reassure the humans, by showing their “natural enemies” in a kinder light...

But after a few months of parleys and storming conferences, _Fœdus Aurorae_ _**–** _ quickly dubbed _Aurora_ by human media out of convenience – had abruptly stopped all communication with the human world. Soon, their revelations had been criticized by the media and turned against them, annihilating their peaceful work and sometimes even making the hunt easier. As time passed, the most extreme followers of both sides grew agitated. There wasn’t a week passing without news of a school or a mall vandalized by attackers who introduced themselves as vampires with too much exuberance, or an entire vampire family found murdered in obscure circumstances, their remains scattered with lowly silver bullets, probably black-market bought...

Human authorities punished these excesses as much they could, and tried to restrain the sale of unregistered anti-vampire weapons – which Zero knew to be hardly as efficient as the Association's weapons, but still dangerous. Everyone feared the one crime that would start the fire. But the situation was almost at a standstill, and the news was full of new vague revelations of personalities said to be "very active" vampires. No one knew how things would end, but it was certain that they couldn't last forever.

Zero looked again at Yuuki. Seemingly more indifferent than ever, she still didn’t take her eyes off the screen.

“Those _Foedus Auroae_ people...did you know them?” he ventured.

“No. But their intentions were probably good.”

“Was Kaname in contact with them?”

Yuuki flinched slightly, and Zero almost regretted bringing up the Pureblood: his companion, already sullen those last few days, could hardly bear hearing – or even saying – Kaname’s name.

She had a strange expression, almost hesitant. Had she not been so graceful and proud-looking – something she seemed to have taken from her brother – the hunter would have thought she was about to break down.

“Why would you ask me this?”

Her haughty voice was colder than ever. Zero tried to stay neutral and matter-of-fact in his words, even when it was a bit hard for him every time the Pureblood was concerned.

“I don’t know much about Kaname Kuran, but I know that this kind of initiative would have been his. He took part in the “Night Class” project with Kaien Kurosu, and as far as I know, he was a firm believer in cohabitation between vampires and humans...”

He stopped himself from ending his sentence with “before he died”, and something struck him: what it Kaname had joined this delegation and their contested actions? Could it have been linked to his disappearance?

Yuuki looked like she had the same thought. Her eyes became more piercing, and as she stared at an invisible spot in the crowd, he knew she was deep in thought, at last, pulled out of her last musings. She finally closed her eyes and nodded regretfully.

“I must admit that... I’m not sure. Our Pureblood obligations often kept us apart those last two years, and after what the humans called the “Revelation day”, it got even worse. When we started this journey, I hadn’t seen Kaname in three months.”

She glanced at the screen one last time, where worrying images were succeeding each other, as if to echo her words. But she already seemed far, far away from political debates and frightened human manifestations, far from these troubled times that had been shaking the world for several months.

Zero watched her in silence, and for one moment he thought he could see in her amber gaze something other than suffering and mourning. Something more familiar to him, who, for years, had dedicated himself to his hunter duties.

A diffuse and deep loneliness. Older than everything else.

Yuuki batted her eyelashes, and everything was gone. Without a word, she walked away, suddenly indifferent to the old television screen and its news which had seemed to intrigue her so much.

“What do you know about this town, since you came here before?”

Zero gave up trying to obtain a more detailed opinion on _Fœdus Aurorae_ and followed her through the crowd. They both were wearing warm clothes; he was carrying a travelling bag on his shoulder, and her a heavy satchel on her side. They looked like ordinary travellers and could almost have remained unnoticed. Zero had refrained himself from asking her to at least hide her long hair, something that, added to her almost-supernatural presence, made her easily noticeable to the discerning eye. But he had to admit that with his own unkempt grey mane and his numerous piercings, on that matter, he could hardly talk.

“Lisenthard is a harbour town with some tens of thousands of inhabitants, the only city a hundred miles around. It thrives off fluvial trade and merchants passing through between the northern regions and the south of the continent. Shaken a couple of years ago by the sudden death of the mayor and his council. Officially, they perished in the town hall fire. Unofficially, they were the head of a group trafficking humans for the pleasure of rich vampires, and were executed by the Association.”

This whispered report managed to catch Yuuki’s gaze and attention.

“And... I suppose that you were the hunter sent here to investigate said traffic?”

Zero simply nodded. He watched around their surroundings.

“And when I see their new militia, I think that this case hasn’t remained a secret too long after the discovery of vampires.”

Innocently, Yuuki followed his gaze. Men who were stealthy-looking, but still in plain view, seemed to be watching the ever-changing crowd. Busy making rounds or standing guard at each exit, they all wore a black armband. On it, a blood-red, four-fanged mouth was printed, pierced by a white arrow.

Zero studied each of the guards, used as he was to evaluating any potential threat with just a glance. Each wore a small anti-vampire gun of average quality at their hip. One of them even had a German Shepherd at his feet, wearing a silver collar, said to shine at the moment the dog sensed a vampire's presence. Moved by the same intuition, Zero and Yuuki avoided the dog and its master's immediate surroundings and carried on their way through the crowd.

Humankind definitely didn’t stay inactive during his exile into the savage lands, Zero thought, torn between worry and some kind of admiration. While Renth and his small resistance group in Neidchmart made up in bravery what they lacked in organization, in Lisenthard the anti-vampire movement seemed to take on a whole new level.

“They’re just boasting,” whispered Yuuki between her teeth. “I’m sure that none of them would recognize a Level E even if it came to them smiling saying that he lost his papers.”

That remark surprised Zero; he felt as though it was too bitter for such a trivial subject.

“I would like to remind you that a few years ago, you wouldn’t have recognized this Level E either until it bared its fangs,” he mocked her.

The young vampiress faced him again, and Zero felt trapped by those two big brown eyes, barely enhanced by a tint of carmine that only he could spot. After a short resistance, he gave up trying to resist the mental grip that Yuuki deployed on him, consciously or not. Suddenly, in a heartbeat, a deep and terrible anguish fell upon him, doubled with a brutal and imperious desire to grab the first passer-by...

...and to sink his fangs into the warm human throat. They would scream, mad with surprise, terror and pain, blood would flow, delicious, as delicious on his tongue as a burning beverage after a dark and icy night…

Instinctively, Zero bit the inside of his cheek, and the fugitive thirst disappeared, chased away by the pain. The following instant, he was still looking at Yuuki in the eyes, she who hadn’t moved and seemed to, fortunately, have seen nothing of his distress. She parted her lips as if to talk, but did nothing. Turning her head, she lowered her eyelids, which Zero saw to be strangely thinner than before, and blueish. Escaping his iron will once, a strong sense of worry took hold of him… and he couldn’t keep himself from asking:

“Yuuki...are you alright? These past few days...”

He left his sentence unfinished. How could he express the fact that she looked exhausted, without stirring up her anger or looking too worried about her?

“Find us a hotel so we can be alone. Being near all these humans exhausts me,” she groaned with disdain.

With an exasperated sigh, she walked to the station exit. Despite her presence, no guard in black armband paid attention to her; they rather took interest in a shady-looking small group of travellers gathering on the platform, seeming lost.

Preoccupied, Zero followed Yuuki. He had been travelling with her for a while now, and once again, he found her overreacting. She who, at the manor, had seemed so sure of herself, so strong in her sorrow despite her wounds, she surprised him still but in a less subtle way. Sometimes she was absent and barely open to the outside world, other times she was in a foul mood. But after all, what did he know of what she had truly become? For five years, she had been Kaname Kuran’s sister, student, companion and lover. Because of her blood, and the company she kept, she was probably fated to become as unpredictable and scheming as him.

This negative thought toward her reassured him. Despite the bond uniting them and forcing him to protect her, he still kept, until proven otherwise, his critical thoughts and his animosity toward her.

That was a good thing, wasn’t it…?

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The sun was rising.

With some hesitation, he opened his eyes, blinded by the gentle dawning light of this peaceful winter morning. His pupils, amethyst bathed in gold, looked around him slowly, and a slight surprise sparkled in them. He recognized the clearing, the one from Yuuki’s memories, that he had explored a few days ago.

At least, he thought it was the same place. The rocks and trees were the same, and the snow, a perfect shining coat, partially covered the deserted place. And yet, the atmosphere was so peaceful it was as if he was... elsewhere.

No dark feeling, nor horrible reminiscence at the sight of a rock shattered by something other than the long and wearing struggle against the elements. While wary, his vampire and hunter instincts didn’t stir, as if the murder that took place here had never happened.

He was still wondering about the reason behind such a radical change of perception, when a bush on the other side of the clearing shivered, giving way to a wolf with sumptuous silver fur. In a swift and silent step, the animal approached, and sat, strangely unafraid of the fact that a human was standing there, a few meters away from him. Surprised, Zero recognized him to be the wolf he had seen in this same clearing. A proud animal on the hunt, with whom just a look, a sniff had sufficed for the two to recognize each other as brother predators, equal.

Sitting in the snow, his fur undulating in the morning wind, his nostrils flaring, the wolf stared at him with such a penetrative gaze that Zero was almost ill at ease. The animal blinked, and suddenly Zero saw that his eyes weren't golden, but a strange deep purple. The wolf looked beyond the human-predator and pricked his ears. Zero felt compelled to follow his gaze.

Behind him, at the edge of the clearing, a silhouette was curled up, body wracked with sobs. In a two-meter circle around her, the snow was strangely greyer, less smooth and, under her knees, reddened by blood. The silhouette, unmistakably a woman's, had very long mahogany hair throwing a veil over her chalky, tear-stained face. At her chest, her trembling hands were clenching an amber crystal.

Saddened, Zero looked away. He didn’t need to look twice to recognize her. Another memory that did not belong to him...except for the fact that for the first time, he watched it from the outside, as if he were a mere witness. Maybe less disorienting, but no less painful.

Still, it was nothing but a dream. But when had he fallen asleep?

“Poor girl.”

Zero flinched, suddenly brought ten years back.

“Against the harshest misfortunes, the weak are immediately destroyed. Only the strongest survive, and hide the greatest sufferings.”

The voice was clear and young. The hunter turned slowly, incredulous.

Where the wolf was standing before, there was now a young teenager. His silver-grey hair echoed the light, colourless aspect of his clothes. His amethyst eyes – the wolf’s – shone gently with a wise and pensive gleam.

Zero held his breath, fearing that too strong a breath would shatter the illusion.

“Ichiru.”

His twin brother had a candid smile, and a slightly naive joy shimmered in his ageless eyes. Apart from his gaze, he looked in every way like the gaunt and sickly child he was the night their parents died. As he was, in the middle of this clearing, he could have seemed vulnerable. And yet, to Zero’s surprise, Ichiru’s small form exhaled such a serenity it was almost...disconcerting.

His brother’s presence proved what the weeping woman led him to believe: he was dreaming. Zero slowly gained back his composure, and his surprised gaze darkened.

“Why now?”

Yes, why? Through his childhood, his twin had been there every night, a reassuring and loved light among his dreams, a familiar and comforting presence at the edge of his nightmares. Ever since he betrayed him, his brother had disappeared from his dreams, only subsisting as a mere evanescence, quickly chased away, a painful reminder of what his subconscious had to reject with all its might.

And after the accursed day when Zero had had to kill his own brother, Ichiru had never reappeared, not even to haunt him. So why appear now?

“...and why like this?”

The last time Zero had been able to see, question, embrace his brother, he was dying in his arms, in one of the Cross Academy basements. An Ichiru of his own age, adult and proud-looking, his eyes full of despair at the loss of Shizuka Hiou, the love of his life. Nothing in common with the child standing here, whose candid silhouette didn’t ring true with his ageless eyes.

The child looked down at his hands as if the answer was written on his white palms.

“I don’t know,” he answered sincerely. “Maybe because you still hadn’t forgiven me for trying to kill you. Maybe because you didn’t forgive yourself for taking my last remaining strength...”

Zero only had blurred memories of this moment. In the depths of the Academy undergrounds, curled up in his cell, he had tried to fight against the unstoppable force awakening in him, far more powerful, imperious and harrowing than the long fall to Level E. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, Kaname Kuran’s schemes were coming together: through Yuuki’s blood that Zero had consumed on several occasions, and Kaname’s freely given, Zero, the first hunter vampire, had become a mere “receptacle”, a beast drunk with power and pure blood, the only being able to handle the Bloody Rose at its full power. All of this for a single purpose: annihilate the Kuran family’s greatest enemy, Rido.

Unable to struggle much longer against the blood of two Purebloods – even three, with the blood Kaname had recently taken from Shizuka – Zero was about to fall into a never-ending madness. He only remembered that his brother had appeared before his cell, pointed the Bloody Rose at him, and shot. All of this to weaken him even more, and force him to take what remained of his life.

Thus, Zero had been able to master the overpowered forces Kaname had insidiously planted in him. He managed to beat Rido, the beast behind Yuuki’s parents’, Haruka and Juri Kuran’s, fratricide. Inheriting a limitless but short-lived power, Zero had even almost killed the beautiful Pureblood who once had been his adoptive sister.

“But I rather think that if I appear to you today, that is because Yuuki acted just like me.”

Ichiru had turned the Bloody Rose against his own twin, to force him to bite him... yes, in a way, it reminded him of Yuuki’s actions. But for Zero, the similarity ended here: while Ichiru did this to help his brother, Yuuki acted only for her own purposes, regardless of his will.

“You’re wrong, Zero. Yuuki and I are not that different.”

Pulled out of his dark memories, Zero kept himself from flinching. Did he think out loud... or could his brother read it in him, like when they were children?

“I only ever had one goal: to get close to Rido once he got his own body back. I even joined the schemers who wished for his return to power, only to be able to kill him myself,” said the young Ichiru, his voice suddenly cold. “He was responsible for Shizuka Hiou’s misfortunes. He had her locked up, gave orders to have her lover killed. His extermination was far more important to me than killing you, since I believed you were only half-responsible for my mistress’s murder. Obviously, I wasn’t strong enough to face Rido. After he mortally wounded me, he did not even bother to kill me. So, I turned to the only person who could still assassinate this monster, and avenge Shizuka.”

A smile lit up Ichiru’s face, contrasting with the horror of his words.

“Thankfully, this person was you, Zero. And no one was more adequate, more able to give you strength than me, your twin. Also, I could help you and partially pay my debt. I died in peace.”

He closed his eyes at these words. Zero didn’t know what to think of his confession. After all, it was only a dream... but, real or not, the idea that Ichiru died in such a state of mind was more reassuring to him than he would have liked to admit.

“Yuuki is no different. When her back was against the wall, she turned to the only person who could still help her, the only one strong enough and still trustworthy. And knowing you as she does, she concluded that only the hard way would work with you. In a sense, you should be honoured that people rely on you so completely, to the point of going to such ends.

“Feeling honoured” ...Zero frowned, didn’t know if these words were meant as a joke. There was a time when Ichiru liked to articulate disturbing truths, like when he used to mention his shamefully fragile health, among an able-bodied and strong hunter family.

In those moments, he used to have the same look as he did now, both candid and painful...

“What do you want from me, Ichiru? Why are you here?”

Ichiru’s eyes became pensive again.

“Because the strongest ones hide the greatest sufferings,” he repeated cryptically.

An icy gust of wind rose. With a deep shiver, the forest seemed to come alive, and a rain of snowflakes fell from the branches.

"There's nothing deadlier or more stubborn than a Pureblood woman seeking revenge. I know it because I followed Shizuka like a shadow for four years. But her pain and anguish were bottomless, too. I would have given anything to protect her, to comfort her as easily as she protected and comforted me."

The wind grew stronger, and the edge of the woods was veiled by snowflakes falling from branches. Suddenly Zero realized that the whimpers had stopped. When he turned, the woman was gone.

“I failed. But you, Zero, you can succeed.”

He searched around him, and finally glimpsed a brown silhouette between the trees, walking away slowly.

The sky was darkening. The wind became a tempest.

Ichiru had faded away too, but his voice remained, whispering in his brother’s ear.

_"You can be something other than her shadow, something other than the pathetic lapdog to which she turns sometimes with tenderness and pity. You can stop following her and walk alongside her, toward her goal by yourself. You can be the one she dares to lean upon on the days when she'll stumble. You can be the best and most faithful weapon she will ever have."_

As if she too sensed Ichiru’s whisper, the feminine silhouette stopped. Her long silky hair swirled in never-ending arabesques while she looked at Zero, indecisive.

“ _You can be the one walking before her, the one chasing the demons from her nightmares and bring her the true reality, far less dangerous than the inner torments haunting her.”_

In the apparition’s hand, the amber crystal was shining like a lantern in the heart of the blizzard.

“ _She pulls her strength from her despair, she only stands thanks to the energy of her hatred. But just one misstep, and she will be engulfed by the negative feelings in her heart. You can be the anchor stopping her from plunging into madness...you can be the one who will save her soul from something far worse than death...”_

Zero felt, more than he could see, Yuuki’s eyes on him, her blood-red pupils glaring at him, full of hatred and anger. She wasn’t asking for any help. Pureblood by birth, she was meant to survive on her own.

But the crystal tears on her cheeks transformed her expression into one of despair. She was afraid. She didn’t know if she could hold on.

“ _I failed to protect the love of my life... there is no worse punishment. But you, Zero, I know you won’t fail.”_

“Ichiru, you seem to forget something. You loved Shizuka. But, Yuuki...”

Zero barely recognized his own voice, muffled by the howling blizzard. He scowled at the distant silhouette.

“...she’s nothing like that to me.”

“ _...Really?”_

Yuuki turned back and ran straight ahead, disappearing into the storm. Ichiru’s voice faded as well.

.

“ _Maybe... does it matter?”_

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Zero opened his eyes and rose suddenly from the couch, furious at himself. The night before had been long and difficult, while, slumped inside an empty train cabin, he fought against boredom and sleep, watchful for any change of mood. For hours, he waited for the brutal return of this unexplained thirst, which had almost led him to slaughter all the passengers. But the vampire within him had remained silent; still a dangerous creature, but almost sleepy and barely interested in its surroundings, since its strength didn’t need to be fed right now. Troubled, Zero came back to their cabin shortly before their arrival at the station. Yuuki, deep in thought, as always, didn’t comment on his long absence, nor his sombre and preoccupied expression.

The night had been exhausting, but it shouldn’t lead him to something as careless as falling asleep by accident. Other hunters had paid such a price. And it was high.

After a quick look at his surroundings, thankfully empty of any threat, Zero crossed his arms and looked sceptically at the small table before him. Next to his tools, the Bloody Rose awaited. He had taken it apart, cleaned each piece and carefully put them back together. The gun was shining in the darkness. An object heavy with deadly memories, totally out of place among the rustic furniture. It looked disturbing in the middle of the peaceful room, in this small country hotel, and it reminded him of what he had worried about just before he fell asleep like a rookie...

One of the strongest Purebloods he ever knew had been assassinated, another one wounded and left for dead. Even in the current chaos reigning in the Night World, such events couldn't remain unnoticed, and in some private circles speculations probably already ran wild about the perpetrator of such a crime – or feat, according to certain viewpoints. There was no doubt that the ones responsible were numerous, or at least very powerful and determined. Yet, something was bugging Zero: according to Yuuki's shattered memories, they had been left alone, dying... yet, anyone who knew something about them knew that a dead vampire was a vampire in dust.

Were the culprits some vengeful and ignorant humans, who by some miracle managed to strike down Kaname Kuran before running away? Or was it another Pureblood, arrogant enough to leave his enemies deadly wounded, thinking that time would put an end to them?

What could have happened that night, in that remote clearing in the middle of the Northern tundra?

Whatever the theory, it didn't ring true. There was only one thing certain for Zero: the ones behind this, whoever they were, had committed a crime as horrible as it was improbable. That such an accomplishment coincided with the recent reveal of the existence of vampires wasn't reassuring: what if a new human technology was behind all this? It seemed crazy! And yet…

Zero would have liked to share his thoughts with someone. His mentor Yagari had always given excellent advice, from his experience and his critical mind, but his student still refused to talk to him about this in any way but in person. His former master, passing through the northern regions a few weeks earlier, had gone back to their home country.

Out of options, Zero thought of talking to Yuuki about it, but the Pureblood’s current irritability still put him off. After going through the same thoughts over and over for the past few days, Zero came to a disturbing conclusion: he was in way over his head. And for the first time in a long while, he feared that his faithful Bloody Rose and his ability to escape the worst situations wouldn’t be enough to triumph from the trap towards which he was running blindly.

This was the reason why, when he gave himself the task of organising their return, he planned a stop in Lisenhtard. In his “profession”, it was common knowledge that one of their greatest gunsmiths lived there, and he still owed Zero a favour. It was time for the young hunter, looking for a more efficient weapon, to call for his services...

Out of the window, he could see the sky darkening with each passing minute, the snow clouds taking a pinkish colour. His mind made up, he got up to pack his tools in his bag. He hesitated, then decided to leave the sabre in the hotel: the probability of meeting several enemies was weak and he didn’t want to catch the Militia’s attention. The Bloody Rose naturally found its place in his shoulder holster, hidden beneath his coat, while a satchel on his belt carried his ammunition. Finally, in a small box hidden in the lining of his travelling bag, Zero took a roll of bills, wrapped in a paper bearing the Association seal. Leaving behind the few passports and ID – all with different names – he put the box back in its hiding place and left his room in silence.

The corridor was darker: there was only electricity in the best rooms, and the employees were late in lighting the candles in the most remote parts of the hostel. Zero didn’t slow down: for people like him, darkness wasn’t a problem. He was walking to the end of the corridor when the door facing his opened with a slight creak.

“Zero?”

He didn’t stop right away. After a few moments, he dared to look from behind his shoulder at the one who had just called him.

“I have things to do in town. It’s better if you don’t come.”

Standing in the door frame, Yuuki didn’t seem to mind this non-invitation. Pensive, she studied Zero’s outfit and his eyes, which he knew were honest and devoid of hostility. She finally nodded.

“Fine. Do you think you will be long?”

“A few hours, at most.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

The question seemed so trivial and innocent that Zero didn’t think about the possible hidden meaning.

“Not really. I’ll grab something from the kitchens when I’ll come back.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

She walked down the corridor, and Zero finally noticed that she had changed her outfit. Putting away her travelling clothes, she was wearing a large black blouse tightened by a belt on her slender waist. Under the flared sleeves, black lace gloves, so delicate and intricate that they looked like a second skin. The edge of the blouse brushed her thighs covered by black tights. As she wasn’t wearing any boots, her legs seemed longer and more slender.

While, ever since they had left the Northern regions, Yuuki always wore buttoned shirts or turtle-necks, her blouse had a large V-neck revealing her pale throat. Her long mahogany hair cascaded over her half-bared shoulders, some rebel curls stroking her alabaster skin. Naturally attentive, Zero noticed the absence of her pendant, which she always had on her, more or less apparent.

Yet, as usual, she wasn’t wearing any make-up: her gaze was enough. Her brown pupils glimmered with intelligence, beauty and innocence, illuminated at the moment by an amber shine, delicately shadowed by her long black eyelashes. Any vampire could have seen the hint of carmine in her irises, but at this moment, Zero wondered if it had always been this obvious.

“Is it why you’re going out tonight?”

She stopped a few steps before him, barely looking up at him. On the wooden floor, her feet wrapped in the shiny fabric of the tights only made a soft, barely audible sound. Seemingly relaxed, she faced him with her usual ingenuousness, this barely perceptible aura making her look as immaterial as she was gorgeous. While her beauty could have been perceived as provocative, or her clothes too flirtatious, her aura transcended all this to offer only a feline silhouette, graceful but innocent... _Touching_ . _**Vulnerable.** _

Zero mentally shook himself, furious at being trapped in the mesmerizing game of Yuuki’s walk. The bond between them wasn’t the only thing responsible for this powerful attraction, and it enraged him. Within him, the vampire had opened an eye, interested by Yuuki’s implicit _offer_.

“No,” he whispered, trying to get a grip on his instincts. “I have to see one of my suppliers. This is why you can’t go... he doesn’t like people like you.”

“People like us,” Yuuki corrected him in the same tone, both neutral and expectant. “I gather that he doesn’t know about your true nature?”

“He doesn’t even know my real name, like many of my informers now. I’ll see you later.”

With a deep breath, Zero pulled away from the invisible embrace Yuuki had webbed around him, consciously or not. Turning his back on her, he left swiftly, feeling with relief the bond weaken as he walked away.

“Wait.”

Zero’s heart missed a beat, his breath got caught in his throat. His legs stopped of their own volition. In his back, the bond stiffened, inquisitive, like a compass needle pointing to his own true North. His body froze. Not one of his muscles answered to him. His mind trapped, boiling, he managed to bite his lip, but the strong pain couldn’t pull him out of this coating of obedience she had built around him. With apprehension, he felt her approach more than he heard her. Within his chained self, his dark vampire side awoke with something of a cheerful sneer: the untamed and unavowed bloodsucker side of him enjoyed this small power struggle, for whom it felt more like a peculiar... _foreplay_.

Soft as a feather, Yuuki put her hand between his shoulder blades. As if suddenly free from a vice, Zero’s chest rose in a sudden breath, short and surprised. His heart began to pound.

“Turn around.”

With a rage he could not even express on his face, he felt his body begin to move again, slowly executing the order she gave it. His muscles were paralysed, his senses sharper and more alert than if he had been in mortal danger. Looking down at Yuuki's neck, he could only admire the fine grain of her marble skin, the silkiness of the hair she pulled over her right shoulder, leaving the left one offered, white and defenceless in the darkness. With deliberate slow movements, almost tender, she put her gloved hands on Zero's cheek and gently moved his head up. At her contact, he felt his own skin stand on edge entirely, with a shudder disgusting him as much as it excited the vampire in him. With despair, he felt the rush of blood and energy in his own canines, starting their slow and inevitable transformation.

“Look at me, Zero.”

Immediately, his eyes locked with his mistress', and despite himself, he was trapped by the two brown irises, illuminated with amber and crimson. Despite her neutral tone, he suddenly felt her hesitating, as if she was sorry to have to go to such ends. To his enhanced ears, Yuuki's heart was beating with the same indifferent slowness, its song yet stronger and more enticing with each passing second.

“We both know that I’m the only one who can sate you. And it’s been more than two weeks that you refuse to feed yourself...”

They left the manor where Zero had recovered from his wounds two weeks ago. There, three times, Yuuki forced him to feed off her in order to speed up his recovery. Weak, in his convalescence, Zero couldn’t resist. But at the moment they started to travel again, the hunter had strictly banned from their routine every situation when she could have led him to do it again. As if it didn’t matter to her, Yuuki had let it slide.

Until now.

“I sensed your trouble at the station, among the humans...wherever you’re going tonight, I don’t want your thirst to come back and betray you.”

One leaning on to the other like this, their foreheads almost touched. But their minds couldn’t have been more apart. Imperceptibly panting, Zero dreaded the final command as much as his vampire half waited for it, triumphant. In a brush of lace, Yuuki’s hands slid from Zero’s face to his torso, closed on the sides of his coat to bring him closer to her. She closed her eyes, tilted her head in abandon.

“Do it.”

At her words, as if the injunction commanded it, Zero's erratic heartbeat finally stabilized, still fast but even. Breathing slowly and deeply, Zero unintentionally slid his cheek against Yuuki's and saw his prey's throat closing in without being able to do anything about it. He could only see her jugular beating, while the sweet song of her blood came to his ears, invading all his perceptions. In a last futile refusal to commit this heinous act, he closed his eyes while, exulting, the vampire in him parted his lips, showing his fangs. Pulled by Yuuki's invisible and imperious embrace, the creature inside him already purred in satisfaction.

His hands clenched on the young woman's shoulder as if to keep her from getting away. Zero would have screamed if he could. He could already see what was going to happen next. His tongue tasting his prey's skin with delight – a Pureblood's skin, willingly offered! – exciting all his taste buds, so much that even the human he still was would lose his grip on reality. His lips would caress her white skin, then his savage fangs would sink onto the jugular, breaking its warm and fragile wall, his mouth finally closing on the warm and dizzying flow of her blood. Mixed with the dizzying perfume of the young Pureblood's hair, her savour, her entire body and mind would come to him in a whirl of confused and incomprehensible thoughts, greeted by a desire shamefully sated again and again after each sip, more delicious and tyrannical each time.

Enough to become mad with pleasure, pain, joy and despair intertwined. A pure moment of eternity, as delectable and wonderful in the moment as it was despicable and regretted once the rapture was over. Zero knew, already felt, how exhilarating it would be and a terrible fear grasped the human trapped within him as he took one last breath before the bite.

In his ear, a sigh escaped Yuuki’s lips. By some miracle he could not explain, the plaintive and muffled sound reached the corner of his blurred mind that still belonged to him. Suddenly she ceased to be just an intoxicating perfume, a soft and tantalizing skin, a pure crimson flow running in fragile, tantalizing veins.

He felt the minuscule tremor shaking her hands clenched on his chest. He felt the stiffness of her small, slender body against his, her panting, anguished breath. And for the first time, this troubling reality, which always excited the vampire in him, reached the human and replaced everything else. In his fall into darkness, her terror was like an anchor. It gave him back his grasp on reality. The blur in his mind immediately faded away and, in a flash, all his body came back to him.

Around their two bodies boiling with life and sensations, there was a heavy silence. Surprised at first, Zero used it like a newfound, benevolent protection. To his great relief, his fangs shortened, leaving the alabaster skin intact. His mind full of a terrifying clarity, he took relief in this new-found control for a few seconds, before whispering in Yuuki’s ear:

“Two weeks? You’d be surprised how much longer I can resist...It took me four years to start feeling the Level E decay. Don’t forget who I am, Yuuki.

She stiffened even more against him, dumbfounded. When he stepped back, calmer than he had been in a long time, he could gaze at will into the Pureblood's wide eyes, too surprised to do or say anything.

“I’ve had enough of biting someone who’s more afraid of it than me.”

Without blinking, he gently took her wrist and tore her hands off his coat, before stepping back, his shining amethyst eyes still fixated on the Pureblood’s. Then he turned away.

His breath in control, he took the stairs. He was barely starting to realize what had just happened when a door slammed violently at the other end of the corridor.

 .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how about a new arc to begin 2019? We can't wait to hear your thoughts about it!


	10. Chapter Six: Abysmally - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed the beginning of this new arc...and that you still have your safety blankets ready, because things are far from being over!

_._

_._

_« Abysmally » - Part Two_

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The emptied glass shattered on the wooden floor. Both hands on the table, her lips still wet with the reddish drink she had just swallowed, Yuuki was panting. In the room inhabited only by her, her whizzing breath and her pounding heart filled all available space. A pale setting sun, still visible out of her window, bathed her in its last rays, but her eyes remained wide open in her stupor. She would have liked the feeble light to be the reason behind her tears, and not the horrible scene she had just been a party to.

Gulping, short of breath, she straightened up and looked for a mirror. Above the dressing table, she glanced at the reflection of a haggard and aghast young woman, her temples dampened by sweat. She pursed her lips and finally tried to take hold of herself, ashamed by this pitiful show. She ran a tired hand through her hair. These past few days, it had become dull. Her skin was strikingly pale and, with renewed terror, she thought she could recognize all the symptoms of bloodlust.

But it couldn’t be!

She grabbed another glass from the tray, threw three new Blood Tablets into it with water from a carafe, waited painfully for them to dissolve and drank it in one gulp. She put the glass down more carefully this time, then stepped back and let herself fall on a couch. Her hand wiped her lips nervously, then she sank into the cushions, pulling her legs to her chest, and waited again.

But, just as with the first drink, the satiety granted by the Blood Tablets was slow to come, and, when it finally did, it only reduced the hunger devouring her by half, leaving a more-or-less bearable pain at the back of her throat. Her fangs disappeared, but she had the feeling that her canines were sharper than usual. Still, she was content with this brief respite and began to focus on breathing normally. After several long minutes, a semblance of serenity finally set in, as well as some sort of lethargy, which had become usual for her recently, and from which she didn’t try to escape.

Then, as cautious as a guilty person coming back to the crime scene, she thought about her last “discussion” with Zero.

“ _Don’t forget who I am, Yuuki.”_

She still couldn’t believe it. He had refused! She had done everything to awaken his thirst and lead him to feed off her, and anyway, with their bond of master and liegeman, she usually only had to say one word to get what she wanted. Yet, he had left. She felt him get away, walking calmly, indifferent to her order and to the thirst which – she was sure of it – had violently taken hold of him...

How could he disobey her…?

Curled up on herself, eyes closed, she hesitated, then ran her hand under her hair, over her neck. Where he would have bitten her, her skin was still smooth and perfect, warm and painless, not like skin that had healed too fast. She felt a pang of guilty relief as she realized, again and again, that he had _not_ touched her.

“ _I’ve had enough of biting someone who’s more afraid of it than me.”_

Yuuki's veil of apathy disappeared, and a fit of hot anger took hold of her, so violent she clawed her own throat. She leapt up, quivering with rage. How could he refuse her gift? Yes, she was deadly afraid each time, and so what! Who was he to behave like this with a Pureblood, he who never had the balls to admit his vampire nature and live it in broad daylight!

Astonished by her own vehemence, Yuuki froze, tried to calm down. Feverish, she struggled to keep her mind clear. With difficulty, she remembered Zero’s eyes, full of distress, as she forced him to come close, and then those eyes, no longer desperate but clear and dignified as he pushed her away. With a mixture of surprise and frustration, she realized that such a refusal from him hurt her. Hurt her far more than a bite or an insult.

Exhausted, she sat back on the couch, started to comb her hair with her fingers, with slow nervousness. In those moments, she had always thought her apprehension before him had remained unnoticed, that the animal desire she instilled forcibly in him would prevent him from noticing the deep revulsion she felt when he touched her. Because, if she was so brutal and sharp in her commands, it was in the hope of inspiring so much anger in him that he could not see his torturer’s anguish.

The memory of his breath on her neck made her shiver, and she hid her face between her hands, biting back a nervous whimper. It wasn't that Zero made her feel disgusted or horrified: on the contrary, his presence felt more familiar, more soothing than she would have liked to admit. He didn't talk much, and neither did she and as they walked toward the same goal, it gave her the delusional feeling that they were on the same page, like before. Ever since he surrendered to her arguments and accepted to help her, he had been the very image of neutrality and silence, and it reminded her too much of the old Zero she knew in her youth.

So, in a way, and even if she knew he had been forced to do it, she appreciated his presence at her side. But the other side of the bond she chained him to, the fact that he couldn’t, despite his efforts, feed on anyone else but her, and the misfortune that his body still couldn’t absorb the Blood Tablets…

“...It’s pathetic,” she whispered almost without noticing.

As traitorous and sly as a snake, anger boiled again inside her, and she was certain, for one second, that if Zero had been close to her, she would have slapped him as hard as she could.

“ _I’ve had enough of biting someone who’s more afraid of it than me.”_

Zero’s cutting remark made her stand up again, boiling with rage. She glared at the corridor door, as if all of her shame was hidden behind it. If it wasn’t for her Pureblood pride, she would have run after him, and then he would see who was more afraid!

With clenched teeth, hunger still gnawing her insides, she took her head between her hands. What did he think, this boor? That a vampiress could give away her blood, like this, to anyone? It wasn’t because he had already bitten her as a teenager that she submitted herself to his fangs with good grace. He was but a mere human, a hunter that Fate had made vampire in a sinister joke. She offered her throat to sate him, in all appearance indifferent, but in fact, neither of them had a choice.

“You’re not him…!”

Zero said he resigned himself to help her, but didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he imagine her anguish and show her a bit of respect, she who, ever since she became a Pureblood again, had only known one man, in the human, vampire or biblical meaning of the word!

To drink someone’s blood at their neck, to steal their life, their energy, their very essence, it was as primal and intimate as making love, for fuck’s sake!

“ **And you’re not Kaname!”**

Her desperate cry broke the silence and, without warning, her power burst out across the room. Glasses and carafe on the table were thrown to the ground, maps and travel notes flew in an explosion of paper. The shock wave took down the chair and shook the furniture, hit the window and cracked its panes. In the mirror above the dressing table near the bed, her reflection was shattered by a long crack.

Short of breath, she didn’t pay much attention to the disaster, called out by only one crystalline sound. Her anger disappeared in one instant, as quickly as it came. Her face caved by fear, she knelt by the fallen objects and picked up a few maps before finding what she was looking for.

On the floor, the small crystal trapped in amber was gleaming faintly. She picked it up hastily, studied it from every angle, but it wasn’t scratched. Relieved, she immediately put the satin ribbon around her neck, and held the jewel close to her, breathing erratically. When, after a few minutes of reverence, she opened her eyes and looked at the disaster with surprise, as if she had just entered the room. Slowly, she got up, embraced her surroundings with eyes full of distress.

What was happening to her? These past few days – or was it weeks? – she didn’t recognize herself. Between Zero’s rescue in Neidchmard and the healing of Hermia’s companion, her exhaustion had gotten a little better but never really left her. Though impassive on the outside, she felt hypersensitive and barely controlled herself in public. Left alone, memories and feelings engulfed her, her mood swung endlessly, and she could go from the most burning anger to the utmost despair in the span of one minute.

She had completely lost control...

Overwhelmed, Yuuki sat on the bed, her pendant held tight against her, a violent anguish tearing her insides.

“It was like this before…”

She swallowed hard. She recognized the state she had been in. The first time was when she had tried to live without blood, like Kaname. At first, she had gone through a state where she felt both irritability and a singular apathy. Then, violent and mentally exhausting mood swings, as she went from languid sadness to destructive rage so quickly that she only understood what had happened in hindsight.

And aggressivity had remained the only true feeling left in her, defined by a devouring thirst that no Blood Tablet could sate for long enough. This last phase was, according to Kaname, not the longest, but the most draining physically and mentally.

Reminiscing of her own experience of this last phase, Yuuki failed to suppress a terrified shudder. She winced, in fact, to hide her tears of despair. No, that couldn't be it, not anymore! She had fought almost two years against her instinct. Kaname had always remained strong and serene, despite their vampire lovemaking which could have awoken her instinctive bloodthirst... she couldn't relapse! Not now!

Not when he wasn’t here to save her anymore!

“Kaname...I can’t survive another fit! I can’t stand it without you...”

Yuuki whimpered like a child and didn't try to hide it anymore. Tears in her eyes, heavy-headed, she curled up against a pillow, exhausted. The Blood Tablets, taken in too much quantity, now made her feel nauseous. Psychologically drained, she let herself sob silently.

And she found herself hoping for Zero’s return.

Because, when he was there, his presence – or was it her own pride? – helped her remain strong and dignified…

Her eyelashes still wet with unshed tears, she fell into a restless sleep.

Somewhere within her, the Beast kept chuckling…

.

.

.

 

Night was falling slowly, but the town remained alive under the gaslights. In the streets, city dwellers were ambling, merchants were coming home after closing their shops, housewives with their grocery bags, travellers looking for a hotel to rest, workers clocking off and gathering in the pubs for one last drink before going home. Hastily, the last ships were unloaded and anchored in the Lisenthard port, to the song of the bells of the tugs and the cries of the dockers.

Amongst this joyful agitation, Zero remained unnoticed, to his relief. While he left the hotel with a surprising calm regarding the circumstances, the thirst remained within him. A muffled but tenacious feeling. It wasn't painful anymore, just unpleasant. And he cursed Yuuki for pressuring his vampire instincts like this. Without her, he could have gone on for at least a week before even thinking about finding someone who would agree to give him blood.

At least, that was the pace he had adopted before she found him. But his attack on the train, the painful feeling of thirst Yuuki inspired in him, and which still tormented him relentlessly, all this led him to ponder. Ever since he had accepted to help her, he had hoped that his need for blood would go back to its previous state. Today, he wasn’t so sure anymore...

Yuuki’s dismayed gaze while he pushed her back flashed in his memory. His face darkened as he was reminded of the irresistible desire she caused in him, his tremors as he finally showed his fangs, the devouring thirst he finally pushed back with a tremendous effort.

And Yuuki’s sigh...a _terrified_ one. Until then, when she forced him to drink from her neck, he was never sure of what he felt from her, too distracted from the torrent of urges, sensations and desires she inspired in him. Every time, her mind-control chained him so tightly that for a few minutes, there was nothing but her skin, her throat, her blood. Yuuki’s reaction, in his memories, was only a small cry of pain when he bit her, a healing hand put on her injury once his thirst was sated, a silhouette walking away with indifference and letting him assimilate the rich substance she had given him. Yet, this time, and for reasons unknown, he had felt the Pureblood’s distress, her uneasiness freezing each of her muscles, her primal anguish and her shiver of horror. He could measure up how much she wanted to push him away.

To know that he disgusted her so much had probably revolted him, at least enough for him to escape the hold she had on him. Strange, but not impossible. That Yuuki refused to take the blood from anyone, this he could understand. But to force herself so much to give hers...was it sensible?

He saw again Yuuki in the manor while they had healed from their injuries: she had spent entire days sitting in her alcove, her eyes lost in the contemplation of the white landscapes. He could still see her hand clenched on her pendant, the serenity laced with sadness she seemed to pull from it, the too-fragile and too frail smile she sometimes had when she kissed the jewel when she thought he wasn't looking. Feelings for her soulmate, transcending death... She loved him and always would, he understood, more painfully than he could ever admit.

Powerful but primal creatures when blood was concerned, vampires weren’t known to keep the same partner forever. In some circles, swinging was even commonplace, openly and perfectly accepted. Zero had heard how rare – and even difficult, unnatural – to keep their blood and their thirst for just one person…

The vow to remain faithful to one’s blood was the ultimate proof of love in the Night World. Had Yuuki followed it those past five years?

Zero slowed down then stopped, troubled by this sudden revelation. Slowly, he looked up to the pitch-black sky, and try to comprehend. In his five years of following the Association’s orders, the depravities he had observed – and punished when they involved non-consenting humans – had strengthened his disgust for the vampires. Unconsciously, he had pictured his former friend like all of the others: someone maybe bonded by love to only one being, but not above refusing an offer or a demand of another’s blood... and maybe more.

If indeed, she only kept herself to Kaname for all this time, then it was logical that the idea of being bitten by someone else would disgust her. And with the trauma she went through a few weeks before…

“ _I’ve had enough of biting someone who’s more afraid of it than me.”_

Zero bit back an exasperated sigh, suddenly regretting his last words, before realizing with surprise that he didn't feel angry at her. Once more, she went against his will, stomped his pride, used her power to force him to obey. In a charming and repulsive way, as always. And yet, he didn't hold it against her.

This notion was... _concerning_. Was the bond between them the reason behind this resilience? Would the day come when, ordered to shoot down a hunter friend, his own mind, like his body, wouldn’t mind it? His previous feat yet refuted such a future...

Perplexed, Zero carried on his way. A silhouette coming to him among crowd suddenly pulled him from his thoughts. Without thinking, he took a turn into an alley to his left and, hidden in the shadows, he waited in silence. After a few seconds, a woman, about thirty years old, walked by smiling, with a little boy bundled up in a coat slightly too large for him. Instinctively, Zero’s eyes fell on the mother’s hands: she was wearing gloves, but he knew it wasn’t because of the cold, barely noticeable on this late afternoon.

Oblivious to the hunter’s presence, the mother and her child passed by. After waiting for their return a few moments, Zero carried on, deep in thought. The town hall fire had left its mark two years ago. But the only two human survivors of this tragedy looked happy today...and that was all that mattered.

Lost in his memories, Zero left the main road and roamed the back alleys with an ease born of habit. His steps led him to an ordinary-looking small shop. In the tiny shop window, a few cans and jars were piled up. Above them, meat hooks were shining. Zero pushed the door without hesitation.

The inside looked barely more welcoming, though it was clean. A lantern on a beam threw a dim light on the only room. Even if the counter and the floors had been scrubbed, it smelled of high meat and tobacco.

Behind the counter, a gruff-looking man was sharpening some big cleavers.

“We’re closed,” he grunted between two pulls on his pipe.

“I’m lucky then, I’m here for the Butcher,” Zero answered in an even tone.

The hissing sound of the whetstone stopped, and the man finally looked up, his eyes a grey so pale they almost looked white. He stared at the newcomer, then had a silent chuckle.

“Well, if it isn’t the young Kelos coming to town...”

The man had a grin so large it almost split his craggy face in two, unveiling yellowing teeth. He leaned behind the counter, as if to put his cleaver behind it, but got up almost immediately, his smile gone. Silver flashed in his hand.

Two shots rang at the same time: the lantern wobbled. Zero felt the gust of wind a few inches from his cheek but did not move. The bullet dug into the door frame, already badly damaged, and exploded in a sizzling seal of dark purple. Zero stepped away from it as if to contemplate it with a critical eye, then faintly smiled.

“You haven’t lost your touch.”

The butcher kept him in his cross-hairs for a few moments, then had another smile, smaller but more natural.

“You have to, with times like these.”

He lowered his weapon, as did Zero. Behind the Butcher, the purple and silver curls left by the anti-vampire bullet Zero had shot at the wall faded away

An old ritual between hunters of equal ranks, who, as well-informed humans, knew that their bullets couldn’t seriously harm them. In the hopes of keeping his secret safe as long as possible, Zero took months to perfect this nonchalance before his foreign colleagues, who for the most part ignored both his name and his true nature.

“Ah, it’s been a long time since I heard the Bloody sing. She’s a pretty toy, this one.”

The man left the counter and walked to Zero, his weapon in his belt, holding out his hand to him.

“Bloody Rose. Difficult to handle, but precise and powerful. Doesn’t need much maintenance and yet never jams. Perfect for the trigger-happy and those who want a job well done.”

Zero listened to him without saying anything, unsurprised by such a greeting. He shook his hand before sheathing his gun. The moon-like eyes of the butcher didn’t leave the weapon until it disappeared under Zero’s coat.

“You took care of it... didn’t change a bit since the last time I saw it. So? What can I do for Tistahn Kelos, the saviour of Lisenthard?”

“I need some special supplies. Does your offer still stand?”

The man raised a brow, circumspect, widening his right eye. His metallic irises seemed to probe Zero’s deepest soul. He didn’t flinch. Then the butcher had a faint smile, and, as he took off his blood-stained apron, walked back to his counter.

“Follow me, kiddo.”

With a swiftness surprising for his build, the butcher reached the only other door of the room, behind the counter. When he took off his apron to throw it away in a corner, Zero saw without surprise the black tattoo, as big as the thumb’s fingernail, at the base of his neck.

The Hunter Association symbol.

The door opened to a stair leading to the darkness of a basement. Grabbing a lantern hooked at shoulder length, the butcher lit it while grumbling something, then climbed down the stairs. Zero was about to follow him when a shudder ran through him. Suddenly nervous, the hunter looked behind him, checked his surroundings. But nothing, in the shop or outside, or even at the end of those stairs, was even vaguely threatening. On his guard, he slowly began to follow his host.

Until then faint, the thirst nagging him suddenly became stronger. Surreptitiously, he put his hand on the Bloody Rose in its holster and, by some reflex he could not explain, the vampire instinct growling inside him withdrew, like a wolf fleeing the dreaded fire. Zero hoped it would leave him alone for at least half an hour. As long as his eyes remained normal...

His uneasiness had nothing to do with the violent pang he had felt on the train the night before, but Zero had a bad feeling about it. Last time he had had such fits, without any warning, it was back at the Academy when he was about to fall to Level E at any moment...

“What brings you here, Kelos? You can shoot a whole vampire orgy with nothing but the Bloody Rose and standard bullets. You ain’t got nothing to prove with your talent...”

The lantern was swinging a few meters below, throwing the butcher’s ominous shadow on the cold stone walls.

“I’ll have a new target soon. I need more...powerful supplies.”

“Oh? Tired of running after Level Es and small nobs?”

Zero didn’t answer, and the butcher wasn’t one to take offence of it. He was at the end of the stairs. In the shadow, he could distinguish a reinforced door, akin to the one of a cold chamber. Knowing the rumours, Zero guessed that behind it was kept something other than just meat. Something far more dangerous.

“I may have a few things that could be useful to you. Nothing to do with the junk those Anti-Vampire Militia simpletons buy at a discount from me... you must have seen them, yes? Those greenhorns like to play tough, but most of them are nothing but freshly-recruited punks. These days, it’s not good walking around after the curfew in Lisenthard, and not only because of the vampires...Believe me, some militiamen have as much morality as a starving Level E.”

As he started working on the numerous locks, Zero barely listened to him, short of breath. Muffled and traitorous, the unknown and unpredictable thirst holding him could amplify at any moment and betray his true nature. If he had to fight his murderous impulses, he would be defenceless…

Defenceless before the best unofficial gunsmith of the Association, who was also a former hunter, one of the most formidable who ever lived. Losing control in his presence would sign his death warrant. Or his opponent’s, if he let himself go too far.

As if to approve this horrible possibility, the vampire within him hissed impatiently…

.

.

.

_**A hoarse roar. Weak, shivering with anguish, quivering with want.** _

A black veil surrounded her like a sticky coat of heat and darkness.

Her long ebony hair, once her pride, was now nothing but a nuisance, stuck as it was to her alabaster skin, tangled by her sweat.

Her heart was pounding like a trapped bird against her deafened, ringing ears.

Her breath, quick and heavy, was burning on her chapped lips.

Deep within her, a familiar and horrible pain had awoken. Rumbling, perpetual, sometimes sharp enough to make her moan in anguish. Her hand closed on her pendant, the other grasping the bed sheet hard enough to tear it apart, Yuuki struggled with terror against her fangs, traitorous, trying to lengthen with so much tenacity that they hurt. A new pain spread through her jaw, jolting her brain, and shattered more of her remaining sane thoughts.

Her mind swirled aimlessly, like a boat lost in a tempest. She felt feverish, exhausted. Felt like vomiting. Her flesh was tortured by the ancestral calling she ignored for too long.

Beyond her will, nested up deep inside her mind, the _Beast_ was waiting patiently despite its excitement. Yuuki didn’t see it, didn’t hear it…

No, she _**felt** _ it. In every cell of her thirst-exhausted body, in every one of her blood-filled vessels. Under every pore of her skin, ready to tear her apart. It purred, clawed patiently at her last defences. Licking its chops, it was smiling.

And Yuuki was afraid. Afraid of what this smile entailed. Afraid of the promise screaming in its eyes, shimmering with power and madness.

“Kaname...Kaname…!”

Half-conscious, she let herself drift slowly in the bottomless bog of her delirium. Curled up amidst the ruffled covers, she was crying and did not even notice it. Her tears, hot and salty, already stained the pendant she was praying to, hoping to draw in its crystal one last shred of strength, of hope.

“Please...Kaname...”

The last bit of her consciousness gave in to exhaustion. Thinking this was the abandon it was waiting for, the _Beast_ dove into the breach. Indifferent, Yuuki let it come up slowly but surely to the surface, while she fell into a world far heavier and scarier than sleep.

.

.

“I never thought it would be so... difficult.”

The slow, peaceful and comforting rhythm of Kaname’s heart missed a beat. Since she had put her head on his torso, she heard it too well. She half-waited for an answer: after all, she was the one who asked for such a trial. Closing her eyes, she had an unpleasant feeling, almost familiar, like a thunderous lump in her throat. If she was still human, she would have recognized it as the sign of upcoming tears.

But now? Was she able to cry for something other than suffering or rage? Cutting short to her thoughts, Kaname put his warm hand on her bare shoulder, embracing her gently.

“Feeling like you’re starving, dying of thirst, of fever, that you’re drowning in deep water, torn apart by a wild beast...all of it at once.”

She shuddered, surprised. Slowly, she sat up and looked into his eyes. Deep in Kaname’s brown irises, she thought she could see a shadow, one last piece of suffering she had never seen until then. Was it the words he just said that had awakened in him this distant pain?

She felt a lump in her throat, less because of the hardship she had just been through than the idea that he too had had to face such an ordeal.

“There were moments,” she whispered, “When the pain was too much... I cursed you for it...”

Kaname avoided her gaze.

“I warned you. It was too soon for you.”

"I'm your sister," she replied in a gruff tone. "If you can do it, so can I."

“Yuuki, do you even have the slightest idea of how old I was when I stopped drinking human blood?”

The vampiress didn’t answer. Without knowing exactly how much, she knew that Kaname – at least in mind – was far older than she was. Wordlessly, she laid down again at his side, her head once more on his torso. After a short lingering moment, Kaname’s arm embraced her again, his other hand slowly stroking her long and silky hair.

“The Blood Tablets were created shortly before the Night Class,” remembered Yuuki slowly. “Kaien Kurosu and you were very busy. Back then, you looked tired, and I thought it was because of your work. But I didn’t know anything.”

"You were but a child, Yuuki. And given my position back then, I had to remain dignified. Even the Senate didn't see anything, and yet they all knew I was abstaining from drinking blood. They took me for someone with exceptional strength, which was greatly useful to me."

“But you suffered.”

“Yes.”

“...How long?”

“Several months...”

“Will it... will be as long for me?”

Kaname took a long breath. She knew that he was deep in thought.

“Maybe more, maybe less. Our situations aren’t the same.”

“Because the only blood I drank was yours…?”

“In part, yes.”

“Do the other vampires also have this problem?”

“Strangely enough, no. Withdrawal is never easy, but for most vampire-born, be they aristocrats or without a title, it only takes about ten days, a few weeks at worst. It’s mainly determined by their motivation. For the Purebloods, it’s more complicated...and less certain.”

Yuuki got up and looked into his eyes, surprised.

“Why is that?”

“The purity of our nature, I suppose. If we are so powerful, that’s because our lineage has never been mixed with human or lesser vampires. From it also comes our weaknesses: while we have a strong fortitude, our primal instincts are incredibly strong as well, and we are more inclined to the madness and violence brought by human blood. To renounce to our primal source of food is far more unbearable for us than for a lesser vampire, for whom such a concession is much easier.”

He looked enigmatically at his young lover.

“The case of Purebloods is unpredictable… After the withdrawal, with training and an adequate number of Blood Tablets, our mental strength makes us more indifferent to human blood than anyone else. But if one day, we fall back to our instincts, what we become is...”

He left his sentence hanging, as if looking for the appropriate expression. Despite herself, Yuuki remembered the state of mind she had wandered into during the past few weeks. It seemed to her as though this torture, at the end, had been lived by someone else: she only had blurred memories, a sensation of a burning thirst, more imperious and harrowing than ever. What wouldn’t have she done then... just to soothe it?

“Nothing can stop us,” Kaname finally whispered.

Yuuki shuddered. She guessed that he knew what he was talking about. Back at the Academy, she only saw Kaname furious once, and he still had been a model of discipline and strictness. Only his eyes had betrayed how furious he was. She couldn’t imagine what it would be if he lost all control in front of defenceless humans or aristocrat vampires...

And maybe even she, without pretence, was able to inspire such terror...

Deep in thought, she turned her eyes away for several minutes. Kaname watched her in silence, studying her frail shoulders, her slender waist brushed by the shining wave of her hair, a warm and brown veil on her marble skin. Then he sat up and ran his hand along her pearly neck, savouring in doing so the silkiness of her hair. Gently, he embraced her and whispered in her ear, making her shiver.

“What are you thinking about?”

She took a deep breath, then slowly pulled away from his embrace and faced him. She just made a crucial decision.

“I have to try again. I want to be as strong as you. I want to be able to stay alone for months, without you or your blood to feed me.”

Even if he probably expected something like this, her determination seemed to surprise him.

“You must really want to stay away from me,” he whispered, half in earnest, half in jest.

She had a more hesitant smile.

“Of course not. But abstaining from blood is a principle you so earnestly follow. I want to do it like you...and...”

Her mahogany gaze became elusive.

“I...even if it’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me, I don’t like being so... _ **dependant**_ on your presence.”

The hand running gently in her hair stopped. Kaname recoiled, barely perceptible but she felt it easily. She carried on:

“I’m not as naive as I used to be. I know what we left behind us. Between the Senate, which is but a shadow of itself, and the Academy being half-destroyed...If we left, it was to protect me, Brother. My apparition threw everyone off-balance, and I was such an easy target. But I also know that I can’t hide forever. You, you have a life, a role in this world… “

“Yuuki”, whispered Kaname, “I have but one life, one role. And I’ve decided that they pertain only to you.”

She barely stopped herself from grinning and put a finger on his lips to silence him.

“One year is more than enough,” she carried on, more serious. “We can’t act as if our past didn’t exist. I know you kept some contacts with our relations. You had a life before I became a Pureblood. You have to get it back...”

.

 

_**...because I want to be part of it...** _

.

.

The world turned upside down. Viciously, pain pierced her.

She felt herself falling back. Reaching out, she tried to hold onto the man she loved, but her fingers closed on air. The dream was falling apart.

“ _It won’t be easy...”_

Never ending echoes. She heard herself asking for the return of her torture, of her own free will. Kaname’s answer was lost in the void.

Her breath was quickening, wheezing. Her own blood was rumbling in her veins.

“ _I know it...but I want to be able to do it.”_

Under the strain of the implacable pain, her heart was out of control. Her skull was about to explode.

“ _Trust me...I can do it.”_

The Beast, lost in its frantic quest for freedom, opened its maw in a victorious growl. There!

“ _If you love me,_ _agree_ _to help me...”_

And when she lost all control, Yuuki screamed in terror.

.

“ **EEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”**

The maid let go of the bed-warmer; it almost spilled its embers on the corridor’s beautiful carpet. Sudden and piercing, almost animal in nature, the scream had scared her out of her mind. Frozen, she stared at the door.

A servant ran from the other side of the floor, alarmed too by the scream. After a quick glance at his unharmed colleague, he followed her terrified gaze and went knocking on the door.

“Madam? Is everything alright?”

No answer, nor cry or the slightest sound. The man knocked harder, to no avail. The maid approached, nervous.

“What do we do? We call the Militia?”

The man hesitated. Automatically, he put his hand on the doorknob and, against all odds, it opened. It hadn’t been locked. Alarmed, the man tried to enter.

“Madam?”

An invisible force, like a gust of wind, threw him back violently into the corridor, slamming the door. Inside the room, there was a terrible ruckus, a profusion of creaking and indistinct sounds, dominated by the howl of a furious storm. The wall shook in a muffled bang, like it had been struck by a heavy object hurled at high speed, and the maid recoiled in horror. Before her aghast eyes, a crack ran along the wall through the entire side of the corridor. Then a series of high-pitched sounds, like broken glass, and a heavy silence fell back.

The two servants looked at each other, then at the door, then each other again. Shaking, the man stood up and, hesitant, mechanically, carefully pushed the door open. A gust of icy wind welcomed them.

The table was knocked over, two of its legs torn off, the chairs broken just like the canopy bed, thrown and smashed against the wall. The drapes and carpets had been torn apart, the mirror was nothing but glimmering shatters on the cracked wooden floor.

And the damaged panels of the window, each of them burst into pieces, clacking in the wind, opened onto the dark of the night.

The room was empty.

.

.

Treacherous, bloodlust swooped upon Zero when he least expected it. He tried desperately to contain it, to no avail. He had, unfortunately, no doubt about the now crimson colour of his irises.

Carefully, with fear in his chest, Zero tried to slip away without a sound when he crossed the Butcher’s eyes. Without hesitation, the man reached for his gun.

.

.

In Lisenthard’s now deserted street, a woman was fleeing breathlessly. The few passers-by watched in a stupor the silhouette running like the wind, gorgeous and supernatural in every movement.

This vision didn’t escape a small group of men who, after looking at each other, went after the stranger.

Sheathe or holster, they were all armed. On their black armband, a red maw was shining, pierced by a silver arrow.

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The compass needle stretched out, pointing somewhere beyond walls and obstacles, imperious and _**worried** _. Anxious, Zero was helplessly overwhelmed by the flow of countless violent feelings, all foreign to him. Anger, terror, sadness. Hate. Madness. Despair. And, the most absolute, the most animal of them all, and the most inexplicable.

“ **Murder.”**

Facing his own death, kneeling before his executioner, Zero was paralysed by one thought. A unique, terrifying thought.

Yuuki was in danger.

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“Madam? We should be arriving in about ten minutes.”

The butler’s polished voice faded away. Yori suddenly shuddered, and reluctantly took her eyes off the manuscript, which she could barely see in the darkness. She leaned back on the leather seat and took a deep breath, slowly coming back to reality like someone awakening from a deep, dream-filled slumber.

Surreptitiously, she wiped the tears in her eyes. She slid a finger on the limousine’s tactile screen and activated the intercom.

“Very well, thank you,” she heard herself whisper hoarsely.

She glanced toward the communication panel, still closed. The butler, out of respect, had contacted her through one of the speakers. She put away the notebook with a small sigh: while she knew what was going to happen next, she felt a strange remorse leaving _them_ like this...

Outside, the artificial and ubiquitous city lights had gone, and night had fallen. The avenues, the buildings and the traffic lights had given way to a unique road of old tar, surrounded by darkened valleys and some lonely trees. In the pitch-black sky, a myriad of stars were shining.

After a few turns, the limousine slowed down and finally passed an old iron gate, before entering slowly a familiar gravel road. Yori saw the small country house, its windows still lit despite the lateness of the hour. All the drapes had been opened, and it could only mean one thing. Yori had a faint but peaceful smile.

“The Master came home from his meeting only a few minutes ago, Madam,” the butler said in the speakers, as if to confirm her observation.

The vampire stopped the limousine a few meters away from the porch and killed the engine. Both surprised and relieved by the sudden silence, Yori gathered her belongings and quickly got out of the car, grinning at the man who politely opened her door.

“Thank you. Take your evening off, I insist. I’ll ask my husband not to call you anymore for the night.”

The man thanked her and bowed deeper still. She walked to the front door while cursing her high heels, inconvenient on the gravel, and reached the door with relief: it opened just at the right moment. Behind it, the housekeeper – a woman looking about fifty, a vampire herself – stepped aside humbly to let her come in, smiling warmly.

“Welcome home, Madam.”

Yori greeted her in return. From the kitchen, a delicious and familiar smell welcomed her. Aidou’s favourite dish had probably been stewing for several hours.

“Is he upstairs?”

“Yes, Madam. The Master had to take a call in his study. I would suggest you go freshen up a bit, unless you’d prefer to eat right away?”

Despite the hunger suddenly taking hold of her, Yori shook her head.

“No, I’ll wait for him. You’re right, I’m going to change.”

The old woman bowed again and disappeared in the kitchen. When she was out of sight, Yori left her dignity behind and took off her heels, enjoying the softness of the carpet on her aching feet. She went upstairs, comforted by its muffled silence.

As always in this country house, the place smelled of fresh air and old varnished wood. She smiled for herself; in other circumstances, her husband probably would have settled in a greater domain, closer to the city, and required an army of servants, as was the custom in his family of high lineage. But this small property – a former farm – had been Yori's first investment. She fell under the charm of its rustic simplicity, and its quiet surroundings. She wrote most of her books there these past few years, and as time passed, they finally settled there for good…

When she emerged of her wandering thoughts, Yori noticed that she spontaneously walked toward her own study. At this moment, her phone beeped discreetly, announcing a message. She automatically read it, and froze in the middle of the corridor, frowning in the darkness.

_"Welcome home, Mrs Aidou. Did your return trip go well?"_

She looked around, expecting to see its author appear at the turn of a corridor, grinning, but to no avail. She shrugged, then played along and quickly typed on her phone.

“ _Far quieter than the_ _outward trip,_ _thanks to you. I’m grateful.”_

“ _Anything for you, dearest.”_

She kept herself from smiling and shook her head. Once, Aidou used to call her “Miss”: it wasn’t out of politeness but to be distant, or even contemptuous toward the indifferent-looking young woman she played before. As years went by, the scornful tone had sweetened to become mischievous, then charming. Still today, he used this formal language in their written messages. Yori could almost see, behind these words, purposefully hackneyed, his sly smile soothed by a tender look.

Her heart pounding despite herself, Yori saw one of the closed doors at the end of the corridor, from under which a small ray of light filtered. Aidou’s study. She approached without a sound and, pricking her ears, she heard his voice, talking in a calm and professional tone, though muffled by the heavy wooden door. She quickly wrote another message.

“ _You’re on the phone?”_

Aidou's voice stopped, replaced by others, barely audible and more metallic-sounding as if coming from a speaker. Still, the answer was swift.

_"Video conference with overseas colleagues. As boring as can be. But those humans are so busy arguing over trifles that they don't even pay attention to what I'm doing."_

She chuckled in silence. For having seen him in action, she knew he was perfectly capable of holding a conversation while answering emails on his PDA, stealthily and without having to look at the screen for more than a split second from time to time.

“It doesn’t sound very serious to me, Mister Aidou,” she whispered.

To her surprise, another message answered her. Probably thanks to the vampire’s exceptional senses, he could hear her whisper even across the heavy wood of the door.

_"In my defence, Mrs. Aidou, I'm back from a long and exhausting trip overseas, and I have much better things to do than listening to these old fogeys. Greeting my young bride, for instance."_

She shook her head, amused but heavy-hearted. She realized that she had naively hoped to see him immediately upon her return. But after all, night was only beginning for the vampires and, as the male son and heir of one of the most influential Night World family, he didn’t have the time for idleness.

Suddenly, all the fatigue of these last few days overcame her, and she sighed wearily.

“Do what you have to do, Hanabusa. You know where to find me.”

She heard his familiar voice taking part in the conversation on the other side of the door, and, sure that their talk was over, she shrugged and went back to her own study. She didn’t plan to write, but her den certainly needed some cleaning up...

“ _Wait.”_

Her phone stopped her once more.

“ _Yori.”_

The following sentences followed, unusually brief, as if sent in a short notice.

“‘ _Hanabusa’. You don’t often call me this.”_

She bit her lip: he was right. Because of a tenacious habit back from their school days at the Academy, she usually only called him Aidou. Except when the subject became important...or when she was worried.

“ _Trouble with your father?”_

Until then eclipsed by the car trip, the memory of her interview with her father left her weakened, in dismay. She looked for an answer, unable to sum up this stormy situation in just a few words. Finally, she whispered, trusting his enhanced hearing:

“Yes...and my memories are playing tricks on me, too.”

She knew he would understand the hidden meaning of her words. His answer was even quicker.

“ _Give me five minutes.”_

In the other room, his voice rose up, while he obviously tried to solve the debate that, until now, he had only been listening to.

“ _Don’t walk away. Please.”_

She sighed, shoulders slumped. She leaned on the wall near the door, and slowly let herself slide to the floor, mindless of her suit. Her briefcase fell next to her, ajar, and the notebook appeared in the shadow of the corridor. As if called out by it, memories of another house appeared, far colder and more ominous.

Blood-splattered snow. Dozens of shots. Silver bullets piercing the icy air.

She frowned and closed her eyes, shook her head, but the memory remained, like the nagging buzz of an insect near her ear, like a thorn out of reach in her beating heart. She chose to focus on Aidou’s indistinct words, his familiar voice raising, serene, on the other side of the door. He knew about the strange _gift_ she suffered from every day. He even saw the _consequences_ , seven years ago... maybe this was what brought them together, at first: this distant past, inherited from their common friends.

He who only heard about their misfortunes, and she who _lived_ them…

After a few seconds, the memory faded away, though still heavy on her senses and her conscience. She smiled wanly, and folded her legs against her chest, resting her head between her arms.

This accursed stay in Lisenthard had turned everything upside down for Yuuki, for Zero. This nightmarish night… yet she would have to write it. Where to start, by the way?

But not tonight. Not when she could finally spend some time with Aidou.

Not now...

A few minutes later, when the study door finally opened, an exhausted Yori had already fallen into a deep slumber, filled with memories and dreams.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some cute Aidori to make up for the mean cliffhanger? 🙂 Next chapter will be even more intense, we can't wait for you to read it!


	11. Chapter Seven: "Bury... me" - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> We are entering the tipping point of the story. If you thought the story was dark...you ain't seen nothing yet.

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_In the loneliness of an unknown language, an infant was crying..._

 

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The smell of blood and fire.

The constant crackling of the blaze, the frames creaking under the strain of the heat, the beams giving way one after the other in a vanquished whine, crashing on the wooden and marble floors with a deafening sound.

Clouds of bitter ashes, swirling embers.

Gorgeous and out of control, the flames licked the beautiful woodwork and antique furniture with their burning breath, melted the armour and blackened the silverware, consuming the drapes and gorgeous tapestries in a ghastly roar. Insidious, both patient and furious, the fire was gaining ground, reigning supreme. It was everywhere!

Scared and lost in the middle of the blaze, the infant was crying, again and again...

Out of breath, she tried to look away from the apocalyptic sight of the fire, and winced when she curled up on herself. Her entire body hurt her horribly. When she remembered the reason for her suffering, she let a horrified whimper escape her, lost in the roaring of the flames. Heart pounding in her chest, she fought against the haunting memory, to not get lost in it without return. But as she buried her face in her hands covered in cuts and dried blood, as she ran her nervous, trembling fingers into her unkept blonde hair, panic mercilessly pounded in her despaired mind.

The cruel smiles of her torturers, the enticed gazes of the women and the covetous glances of the men. Their fangs and their nails that tore her apart without reprieve, always more excited as she cried, pleaded. Their laughter, ringing again and again, like an indifferent echo to her pain!

Paralysed by terror, unable to move despite the flames nearby, she could almost feel, on her tortured, shivering skin, the hungry lips of these monsters. Their tongues, tasting her blood with animalistic pleasure. Their hands, even the slender ones of the women, closing on her with an inhuman grip, easily pining her down as they “tasted” her...

_**Vampires…!** _

Curled up against the wall, under a window walled up by bricks, she began to cry again, her chest racking with sobs. Over her bruised skin, her torn clothes were like a rough membrane, hard and still damp with fresh blood. Here and there, near her, the bloody, lifeless corpses of the other victims were scattered, beginning to burn.

The varnished floor was covered in sand but, still in shock, she couldn’t say how it came here. The smoke was slowly smothering her in its shroud of burning vapour, and yet she didn’t care. Shame, terror, exhaustion, all of this only left her wishing for her own end.

Die... she wanted to die.

Then a baby’s cry chased all the phantoms who paralysed her.

“Nathan…?”

With a surprised and incredulous sigh, she got up and, not caring for her injuries, looked around the great reception room engulfed in flames. Chased by the blinding, ever-present light, the shadows seemed to never have existed, and the room looked flat and dimensionless. The two great arching stairs were nothing but a great blaze. Their steps of polished woods and carved bannisters threatened to give way at any moment and, for one second, the woman wondered if they were the only way out.

Finally, her eyes, welling with tears, caught sight of a small bundle, still spared by the fire, abandoned under the balcony between the burning staircases.

“Nathan!”

Her heart missed a beat and, forgetful of the danger, she leapt forward. As if to punish her for such a toll on her body, vertigo took her and she stumbled, almost falling several times, her limbs feeling like cotton. Short of breath, she carried on despite her blood loss, which she felt with every step she took. Her gorgeous grey eyes, reddened by her tears, refused to turn away from the small bundle under the stairs, as if it could fade away in the blaze if she looked away for one second. Each of its inarticulate, harrowing cries, made her heart beat a bit faster and, when she saw a small fist freeing itself from the cloth and shake, as if angry but powerless in the inferno, she cried with relief. She shoved the remains of a burnt-out piece of furniture out of the way with a small whimper, and ran to the small bundle to hold it tight.

“Oh, My God, thank you...thank you!”

The baby’s cries hurt her ears and yet she had never heard more beautiful music. Alive, he was _alive_! Feverish, she parted the cloth and quickly checked the small wriggling body who, unlike her, was unharmed.

“You’re alright... you’re alright! Thank you, thank you...”

She wrapped the infant up again in the cloth, knowing it would be a barrier – weak but still useful- against the flames and their hellish heat. Brought back to reality by this small being bundled against her, she could finally think about her own survival, and studied their surroundings in a new light. To her knowledge, this reception room only had two exits. The first one, on the opposite side of the room, turned out to be blocked by flames and the frame, which had already collapsed under the heat of the blaze. Distraught, she looked at the great windows, but they had all been walled up by bricks to protect the former _landlords_ from daylight…

Desperate, she finally looked up to the great staircase engulfed in flames: it was her only chance! She had used it when she arrived so she knew it led to a long corridor, which itself may lead to the exit. The black heavy smoke rushing into the opening strengthened this possibility, and with renewed energy and courage, she ran to the stairs on the right, as they seemed less damaged by the fire. She had to try, for her and her baby! They couldn’t have both survived this nightmarish _orgy_ to die now in the flames, trapped in those basements!

It would have been too unfair...

Holding her child close to her, she bravely approached the burning stair, looking for the safest steps, when she felt someone staring at her. She looked up and saw with horror, standing on the balustrade, a silhouette as familiar as it was terrifying.

“Here you are, my dear...my dearest Elora...”

She whimpered faintly and stepped back clumsily, while holding on tighter to her precious burden. From the balcony, the man loomed over her. His riding coat and polished shoes were stained with blood, and she knew all too well it wasn’t his.

“No…!”

Despite the hellish heat distorting everything, despite the smoke engulfing the man like a conniving animal, she saw well enough how his eyes were glowering at her with pride and desire. Blood-coloured eyes.

“I’m begging you,” she pleaded, “I love you, I’ve always loved you! Let me go...”

But the man who had been her companion, the man she had been devoted body and soul for years, had hidden his true nature from her. Worse, he lied to her, betrayed her in the most shameful and appalling way: he had _sold_ her. Her, but also his own son. Sold to his bloodsucker friends, as an evening’s entertainment…

With these words, she didn’t expect to soften him. It was panic talking, fear for her and her child’s life.

“Let us go, please!”

The man let out a blood-curling laugh revealing even more of his two enormous blood-stained fangs. Suddenly he stopped, wide-eyed, and the woman knew with terror that he had just recognized what she was holding protectively close to her. His ruby gaze was suddenly filled with murderous rage.

“That’s my son,” he barked. “Give him to me, Elora!”

She stepped back again, bent in two under the weight of pain and terror, holding her child close to her chest.

“No! You can’t do this to him! Take me if you want, but let him live!”

“ **Shut up!!! His blood is mine!”**

Disregarding the distance between him and the ground, the man crouched then leapt from the balcony, all his body tensed toward her like a predator towards its maddened prey.

“ **Don’t do this!!!”**

Elora turned around and tried to run, but the man, swiftly, landed in a crash of wooden floor behind her. Sickened, she felt with horror the hand of the crazy vampire closing on her neck, his claws slashing her skin, while the other crushed her arm and threw her to the ground. The baby started to cry again in her arms. Wrecked with suffering, her neck aching, the woman watched, powerless, as the vampire jumped on her son, fangs out.

“ **Noooooo!”**

A shot rang, a short and deafening detonation rolling in the blaze. Instinctively, the woman had curled up on the ground, protecting her baby with her body. Instead of a beast crashing on her and fangs slashing her back, burning dust rained over her. Stunned, she watched the shining sand around her, then looked up at where the shot had come from. She felt her blood turn to ice.

Upstairs, behind the balustrade where her husband was standing seconds ago, a dark and unknown silhouette had appeared. In his right hand, a gun was still smoking.

The stranger had just saved her, but she only saw his eyes, shining red in the flames. Anguish froze her again as she instinctively tried to escape this new enemy. He lowered his weapon and suddenly looked up to the ceiling. There was surprise on his face.

“ **Watch out!”**

Mechanically, Elora followed his gaze. The beautiful drapes on the ceiling were finally consumed, after having set fire to the enormous chandelier they were attached to. At the same time, the lamp, already dangerously rocking, began to creak menacingly. Until then frozen by fear, she could finally move again and, her baby in her arms, limped out of the way. A final creaking sound, and suddenly the enormous chandelier gave way under its own weight. It crashed on the ground centimetres away from the young woman, scattering embers, crystal shards and burning-hot metal in a deafening thunder. Almost immediately, the floor creaked, bent and finally caved in under its weight.

Tossed around, the woman slid and disappeared, screaming, into the gaping hole in the floor, as if she had been caught in some voracious creature’s hungry maw. Luckily, she narrowly avoided the broken branches of the gilded chandelier and hit the floor, which was thankfully a lot lower than she would have thought. Stunned, sheer instinct managed to get her up and, without paying attention to a new bleeding injury on her temple, she looked frantically for a way out. Unfortunately, she only found a dirt bed, which served as foundations for the pillars holding the polished wooden floor. Said wooden floor was still a meter out of her reach.

Her instinctive frenzy disappeared as quickly as it had come when she understood she was trapped. Trapped for good…!

Panting, exhausted by her wounds, her anaemia and the horrible night she had just lived, she suddenly felt herself on the verge of giving up. Against her, her baby was moaning softly, as if aware of their doom. When, from the bottom of the hole, she saw the flames creeping up, she thought their final hour had come. There was nothing else to do.

She fell on her knees, her legs refusing to carry her further. Tears finally ran down her blood and dust-covered cheeks covered and, with a whimper, she hid her face in the cloth protecting her baby, kissing his little blonde head.

“Nathan, I’m...sorry...”

The baby wriggled, shaking, starving. Her understanding of that shook her up once more, and she stood up without noticing it. No, no! She couldn’t give up. Not as long as Nathan was alive! But how, how to get out?

And, as if to answer her, a clear and strong voice rang, far above her.

“ **Are you alright?”**

She froze in surprise. A few moments later, a shape appeared in the outline of the hole. The silhouette seemed to look for her frantically. Standing still, she didn’t recognize the gunman at first; his eyes weren’t red but another, darker colour. In the flickering light of the fire, his features revealed him to be far younger than her, who was merely twenty-six. Swift and alert, he stopped when he finally saw her in the glimmering ember light. His voice, clear but commanding, rang again above the whizzing inferno.

“Can you walk? Climb on that beam!”

Stumbling, without thinking, she obeyed, saw the beam, one of the biggest ones supporting the floor, taken down by the chandelier. She climbed on the wood, twice as big as her, and automatically raised her hand toward the man’s outstretched one.

“Hold him close!”

Upon these words, he leaned even more and quickly caught her forearm. With a scream, she felt herself being pulled toward the light with a strength she wouldn’t have guessed at. A little shook-up, she was barely standing next to the hole when he wrapped her in a drape miraculously spared by the flames. Then, without warning, he picked her up.

“Be brave,” he whispered.

Without hesitation, the stranger ran to the blaze devouring the stairs. In his arms, terrified, the woman thought the steps would give way at any moment. Yet he safely reached the balcony and ran to the hallway, also prey to the flames. A maze of rooms and corridors followed, all devastated by the fire. On the edge, she chose to stop looking at the apocalyptic surroundings and held her baby tighter. Exhausted, her eyelids fell over her dove-grey eyes.

In a holster against the man’s chest, Elora could feel the gun that had scared her so much, but chose not to worry about it. Tired as she was from fighting, she accepted the need to put herself in the hands of a stranger. He was carrying her as if she weighed nothing, this adult barely out of his teens, running through the underground citadel turned inferno, as if guided by a sixth sense.

Whatever happened next, she would never forget that night when her husband _betrayed_ her and their son. As she would never forget the face of the man who saved her. This unknown young man who, like an avenging archangel, had struck down her torturers and pulled her from the blaze.

An angel with strange grey hair, and shining eyes of the purest amethyst.

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“Talk about a first meeting... Zero, I’m starting to believe you always knew how to make an entrance.”

Yori shut the book with a sigh, and closed her eyes. As if called out by the story she had just perused, written seven years ago, a memory came up, as evanescent, gentle and colourless as a ray of sun on a winter morning. It took the shape of this _woman_ , a mere human, met during a mission. A soul with an unseen courage, a kind smile, a warm gaze where hope and life never ceased to shine...

“ _Zero?”_

After a while, Yori smiled faintly as well. She felt a lump in her throat as Zero’s memory took over, with various ambivalent feelings toward this woman she never knew. She half-wanted to carry on with her reading, to learn more – or relearn more – about this stranger who once meant so much to Zero, to the point that he still remembered her with a deep regret.

Reluctantly, she put the heavy tome on the desk, stroking the bound cover with the palm of her hand. She had started to write their story years ago, and there were still many things to say about _her_ , about what bonded her to Zero. But…

“Not now. This is not the time.”

As if in acceptance, the woman faded away, and the memory went back to the sleeping void in the depths of her mind. Yori took a deep breath, her mind painfully clear, fear inside her. She sat at her desk, meticulously tidied up her pens, her notebooks and blank sheets of paper. She looked at her shaking hands: they were clean, but she knew without a doubt they would end up covered in ink and charcoal before the end of the day. Once the memories were released, she would completely lose herself in her _gift_ , this memory that did not belong to her...

She wouldn’t fail this time, she promised herself. But where to start…?

She grabbed a pen, re-read feverishly what she wrote yesterday. The memory of a dark and cold night unfurled, insidious in her mind. A frantic run. An uncontrollable thirst. The taste of danger, the desire of murder, blood on her tongue and fangs, the red and sticky coat on her hands and lips.

Where to start…!

The smell of gunpowder and torn entrails. The victims’ screams of agony. A fight to the death, An innocent’s sacrifice. The horrified and enraged voice of a cornered hunter, the scream of rage and suffering of a Pureblood in agony.

“ _ **KANAME!”**_

The knocked-over chair thumped against the floor. Yori was startled, back to her senses. In her terror, she had jumped from her seat and stepped back to a corner of the room. Trying to control her breath, she curled up under a bookshelf. Her heart pounded in her ears, while, out of control, chaotic memories rose from the void. Memories of a murderous spree before unseen, engulfing her like a dark tidal wave.

Memories that almost drove her insane, seven years ago.

“I can’t...”

She grabbed her head in both hands and rocked herself instinctively, mindless of the muffled sound of her back hitting the shelf.

“I can’t! Yuuki...”

A bloodlust nothing could sate. A flood of horror and violence no one could prevent. An unbreakable vow, absolutely null and void, and yet! And murder, murder, destruction and madness that dispossessed her of herself, brought her to her lowest instincts...

“Yuuki, I cannot follow you…!”

But the images, the feelings kept on coming, filled with perceptions and memories belonging to the Pureblood. Memories from Lisenthard, this distant town marked by horror. Memories of Kaname, linked with so many regrets they had led their owner to do the unspeakable...

How to write such a storm of broken images...where to start!

“Zero, please…!”

She had whispered the hunter’s name without thinking, and suddenly everything stopped. An otherworldly silence engulfed her and, surprised, she looked at the room in a new light. Breathing raggedly, her back damp with sweat, she stood up slowly.

“ _Yori.”_

In a corner of her muzzled memory, the hunter’s blurry but proud silhouette seemed to stare at her with attention.

“ _You don’t have to do this. You have your own life.”_

She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and shook her head.

“Of course I have to, Zero. I cannot live until it’s over.”

He didn’t answer, but she felt him clearly disapproving. She shrugged, as Yuuki used to do when faced with the hunter’s pessimism. This reflex troubled her for a few seconds.

She slowly went back to her desk, and a lump formed in her throat as the inevitable question came to her, again and again: where to start? The memories of this nightmarish night were too harsh, too violent: awakening one of them would always lead to a storm of sensations so brutal it left her exhausted and broken. Seven years ago, she had had to give up, about to lose her mind.

To unfurl this skein of burning memories, she would have to find the right thread, the right start, the one which, properly activated, would untangle absolutely everything, and would allow her to put them all together, making sense to the rest of the world.

She would need protection to not lose her feet and fall into this never-ending flow of demented memories. An Ariadne's thread to find her way in this maze of foreign urges and sensations. Her survival was at stake...

Shivering, she put her hands in the pockets of her vest, and suddenly her face lit up. She took her mobile phone, opened the drawers of her desk and finally found her old headphones. Mechanically, she crossed the room and sat on the camp bed she had recently installed to compensate the exhaustion of her long sleepless nights. Doubtful, she plugged in the headphones, and put them over her ears. A deafening silence surrounded her. She fidgeted with her screen for a while and, led by an intuition, made up her mind.

The first notes rang, only for her. The lyrics followed, filling her mind, her body, her soul. Unstoppable, like her memories. They would be her guide, her anchor.

_What if I wanted to break_

_Laugh it all off in your face_

_What would you do?_

Her inspiration, but also her safeguard. A link with the real world.

She put on the automatic repeat, then laid down and closed her eyes. After a few seconds of silence, the music started again. And, at her invitation, a memory unfurled, took her away without drowning her.

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[Inspiration by: "The Kill (Bury Me)" - 30 Seconds To Mars (Right Clik - Automatic Repeat)](https://youtu.be/JjPIOuFtWAI)

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A heartbeat. A hoarse breath.

Under the Moon’s icy and mysterious grin, time seems to stand still. Through the silent and shadowy city, someone runs.

A heartbeat. An aerial stride in silver snow.

_What if I wanted to break_

Hair whipping in the cold air, long and silky. A panting sigh, drowned in the deep abyss of the night.

An ember shine swings in the wind, strays away, disappears into the night. She doesn’t realize it and carries on her maddened run.

An exhausted heart, its song ever quicker and more chaotic. A crystal tear sliding on a tensed cheek.

Fangs gleaming behind tortured lips. And the sharp, lashing, perpetual burn.

Unbearable.

_Laugh it all off in your face_

Nevermind the flight, the ache remains. She knows it, feels it. The ancestral call rings out. No way out now.

Within the darkness of a harrowed soul, the monster exults.

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_What would you do?_

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Time stands still.

Inside the depths of Lisenthard, in this great room where an old hunter forges and keeps the deadliest instruments, complete silence reigns, disturbed only by a ragged breath from between two canines that have betrayed him in front of an enemy.

On one knee, he struggles against this feeling, both familiar and foreign, burning his insides, rousing his instincts, drenching his back with cold sweat.

The _Beast_ has awakened. But not his, he suddenly understands. The monster he has been hiding and controlling for years is only exulting behind its cage, still under lock and key. Aghast, he studies this foreign and vile, almost unbearable urge. It possesses him to his deepest core, but doesn’t belong to him.

A distant wildfire, roaring and out of control, brushing him with its inhuman heat. But it’s not him who stands at its centre.

It’s not him who screams and struggles, maddened by pain at the heart of the blaze.

_What if I fell to the floor_

It’s not him who begs, not with words but with gestures and bestial screams, for a _bloody_ and unlikely respite.

_Couldn't take all this anymore_

If he feels this unspeakable desire, this unimaginable, sometimes unbearable pain, it is because of the **chain** bonding him to the true victim.

_What would you do?_

His pupils blazing from this unintended and monstrous fate, he stares at the man with the gun, his elder and equal. He doesn’t have to lower his eyes. The other knows enough already.

And the man winces, as his index finger clenches on the trigger, ready to shoot. His lips move, he’s about to say something…

Facing Death itself, tortured by thirst, the youngest of the two hunters remain frozen. Struck by an idea he keeps pushing away, not sure if it is really his.

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Yuuki...

 

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**She’s in danger!**

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_Once a promise bonded us_

_A secret you chose to keep_

_In my darkened suffering_

_I couldn’t stop you_

 

 

_Today it’s high time_

_To face our torments_

_Once more, you challenged me_

_And the link you created weighs on both of us…_

 

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**Bloody Cross Chronicles**

_._

**Chapter 7**

_._

“ _ **Bury… me”**_

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“I thought you were smarter than that, Kelos!”

Zero shuddered, suddenly brought back to reality. In a jolt of lucidity, he overcame the dizzying spell that had brought him to his knees. His vision came back to him, and with heightened wariness, he glanced around him, at the room that, despite all his composure, had made him shudder with surprise when he entered.

Shining blades, carved with runes, were carefully aligned on their stands, from the smallest knife to the double-headed axe on the wall. Guns, from small revolvers to rifles and all sorts of firearms, in all shapes and all sizes, gleaming and threatening in their metallic silence, dozens of them in cases or shelves. Wherever he looked, he only saw weapons, no two alike. Kept here waiting, safe from time; some of them were carved in the old pure hunter style, imposing in their faithful years of service and still quick to deliver death. Others prided themselves in their technology, menacing and elegant even in their still silence.

What almost everyone in the city thought to be the basement of an unknown butcher was in reality the hideout of one of the greatest hunters who ever lived. Now retired, he had made a new name for himself, forged alongside the deadly weapons he created and only bestowed to the best.

The “Butcher”, who inherited this nickname not because of his feats in battle – said to be a model of stealth and efficiency – but because of his peculiar cover, was among the legends for those who belonged to the Hunter Association, no matter their age or their country. To meet him was a rare honour. To use one of his creations, a privilege granted to even fewer people.

Yet it was a favour that Zero – under his Tristahn Kelos persona – had more than earned, during his mission in Lisenthard years ago. Much to the surprise of several of his elders, the young hunter broke down in a few weeks an entire human trafficking ring, a vampire business spreading through the entire region and involving some of Lisenthard’s most famous citizens. Tristahn Kelos’ efficiency was only matched by his discretion: the horrible massacre had been, for the humans, nothing but a fateful fire, which took the life of the town-hall council. No one among the civilians knew the truth. And the young hunter had, according to rumour, earned the Butcher’s gratitude, as well as the right to one of his weapons.

A favour that the famous Kelos came to claim today, and his debtor had been more than eager to honour his word...until suddenly, the young hero’s eyes took a crimson hue the old hunter would know anywhere. A truth still shining, burning, in Zero’s pupils, as he stared, without any fear, at his elder about to execute him.

“I knew that your efficiency in this case was hiding something, Kelos. But to think that it was you, the famous “Silver-Fanged Hunter”...”

The Butcher cringed at the name, as if hesitating between contempt, horror and curiosity. Zero didn’t answer. Ever since his condition had stabilized, a few years ago, there had been a rumour among the hunters, saying that one of them was a vampire himself. The identity of this ambivalent character had never been revealed, kept secret by Zero and the Association Council of his home country. Such precautions had led the story to become a small urban legend. Someone under the bloodsuckers’ curse, as such gifted with vampire grace and deadly abilities – speed, instinct, sheer strength – and who yet had joined their ranks. No doubt that if such a person actually existed, they would be quick to rise among the Hunter hierarchy, led by their exploits...

“But you’re quite stupid to come here to my lair without being prepared,” continued the Butcher in a harsh tone. “If there’s anyone in this city who shouldn’t discover your secret, it’s me, don’t you think?”

Zero took a long breath. Inside him, the urge, hunger for blood and violence, was still burning, barely bearable. He still didn’t dare linking it to Yuuki and not to himself. It seemed so crazy, to suffer thirst by proxy! But he couldn’t let himself be swept away by this discovery. It was neither the time nor place…

“I know that,” he whispered, his voice a lot more assured that he would have thought. “Now, the question is: what you are you going to do?”

Zero got up slowly, trying to make it look like carefulness instead of exhaustion – the struggle against the horrible urge to jump at the man’s throat and bleed him dry took almost all of his strength and will.

“Even if it would be a great loss for the Association, I won’t hesitate to kill you if I have to.”

To kill, but with what? A true rookie’s mistake, he had left his sabre with his hemi-blade at the inn, and thus had nothing on him that could harm a human. The Bloody Rose he had raised instinctively would only cause a fleeting pain to the Butcher, and Zero knew it wouldn’t stop a former Hunter with such a glorious past.

Seeing his opponent smirk, he knew they both had the same train of thought. Insidious, the fact that, in his state, he _**was** _ himself a living weapon, faster than a human and terribly efficient passed through his mind... Zero chased it away immediately. To jump, fangs bared, on a human, to tear him apart was one of the last things he would ever do.

But then... what could he do? The fleeting fear that he was cornered made him sick. Without speaking, to avoid showing his canines even more as they lengthened, keeping his opponent in his cross-hairs, he simply looked him in the eyes, knowing that the storming desire and madness within him illuminated in red his inquiring stare.

At the slightest threatening gesture, he would use the Bloody Rose. The pain caused by an anti-vampire bullet would only be momentary, but it might be enough to slow down the Butcher, and to allow him to flee without taking a deadly blow...

In the heavy silence, weapons drawn, the two men stared at each other. In the crude neon light, the strange grey irises of the Butcher shone with the same deadly coldness as the surrounding weapons. After some dragging seconds, his craggy face hardened, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Zero recognized the barely-discernible aura of someone who had just taken a crucial decision. Heavy-hearted, still fighting against the relentless fire torturing and starving him, he cocked the Bloody Rose as well…

Then, with a resigned sigh, the Butcher lowered his weapon. Surprised, Zero hesitated before doing the same. With a new bitter cringe on his craggy face, the old hunter flicked the safety catch back on, and returned the weapon to his belt.

“Your life for hers. Let’s say that my debt is paid,” he groaned, crossing his arms, still threatening. “Well, with times like these, I’m not sure that to shoot you down would be the best thing to do. You’re a valuable asset for the Association.”

Taken aback, Zero’s eyes widened. A debt? The Butcher scoffed impatiently, and his grey eyes glared at him.

“Since you seem not to know, Elora’s my niece. Without you, she would have died that night in the town hall fire. Your life for hers,” he said again. “Now take off, and never come back to see me in this state.”

Zero flinched, seized by distant memories. Another basement, another inferno. Fire, devouring everything. The Bloody Rose singing relentlessly that night, never missing a shot. A run through the smoke-filled corridors.

A young blond-haired woman. Covered in blood and injuries. In her bruised arms, a baby, safe and sound.

Her grey eyes, the same as the Butcher’s. But more tender, filled with determination and love for her child, eyes that never faltered as she put her life within his hands.

Lips that thanked him with a smile that no torture, no horror managed to erase.

Soft and warm lips, thankful and loving…

Injured hands, yet still so beautiful, so skilled to dress an injury he hadn’t been able to avoid. So soft once danger was behind them...

A gentle, whispering voice, a life-saving tenderness in the heart of some winter nights...another regret amongst so many others...

_**Blood, for heaven’s sake!** _

The urge hit him at his core, turned his stomach upside down so violently he almost stumbled again. Memories of a short-lived peace – which he had never forgotten – disappeared before the violence of countless feelings of anger, desire and hatred. Madness brushed him again, blackening his thoughts for one short moment.

**Yuuki!**

Without knowing exactly how, he knew time was of the essence. He turned back to hide his blazing gaze and, his entire mind set toward the one who had chained him to her thoughts, he walked to the stairs leading to the surface.

“Kelos!”

He stopped abruptly at the Butcher’s call. His enhanced senses warned him of an object thrown in his direction. Carefully keeping his face out of sight, he raised his arm and seized it. He recognized easily the small box, bearing the Association seal.

“This ammunition will perfectly fit your Bloody Rose. There’s liquid silver in it. It dissolves in the body after the impact. Nasty pieces of work, so think twice before using them. I don’t know any aristocrat who would survive one of these bullets in the chest, and even a Pureblood would have a hard time brushing it off.”

“Thank you,” Zero whispered without looking at him. “Thank you very much.”

Such bullets were priceless. Few people could afford them.

“That’s because thanks to you, my great-nephew won’t have to grow up with scars. Now get the hell out of my lab, hunter, and don’t ever come back.”

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Like a mysterious and cold grin, the moon played with the misty clouds, throwing a harsh light on the sleepy town. Behind a few shutters, one could make out the flickering light of a candle, but inside the houses, the careful whispers slowly gave way to silence. With the last shops closing, the deserted streets were left to the cold darkness of the winter night. Under the silver moon rays, the virgin snow covering the rooftops sparkled with new-found beauty. In this still scene, filled with shadows and secrets, the bustle of the day was forgotten, out of place. On the river and in the docks, the boats rocked lazily, like gigantic and idle creatures, their ropes creaking in the breeze.

With the curfew, Lisenthard became a ghost-town for a few lingering hours, until the day came back to free it from its cradle of shadows and fears.

Forgetful of the rules, a silhouette roamed the streets, running breathlessly, almost stumbling on the cobblestones several times because of the grey dirty snow. In a clenched hand, an amber stone was shining, its centre throwing strange reflections of the silver moonlight.

A noise seemed to bring them to a sudden stop, and the silhouette listened carefully, wary. Anguished, they recognized a roaring engine, and the furious barks of a dog. They ran off immediately, short of breath, heart pounding. But soon the engine sounds became numerous and deafening, and out of the corner of the street appeared several motorcycles, their lights piercing the darkness, revealing the fleeing form who accelerated once more, terrorized. One of the men mounting the machines let go of the leash of the hound accompanying them: free, the dog ran straight to the person at the end of the street, soon followed by the motorcycles. Once they caught up with their prey, they cornered them against a wall.

In their fists, each one held a rifle, a gun of average conception, silver-made. Every one of them was wearing the black armband adorned by a red four-fanged mouth pierced by a white arrow: the Listenthard Anti-Vampire Militia sigil.

“Freeze!” screamed one of the pursuers.

The cornered person, a forty-something man, fell to his knees.

“Please! Please! I was just going home!”

“Your eyes! Show us!”

At once the man widened his eyes as much as he could, tearing up in the blinding lights of the motorcycles, their engines still running. To back up his innocence, he grimaced to show all of his teeth.

“Look, look! I’m not a bloodsucker, please! Don’t shoot!”

“Never heard of the curfew?”

“I had to work late! I thought I would be home before the curfew! I’m sorry!”

He was flailing, unaware that this anxious attitude might play in his favour. But it was without taking into account the dog of the watch group: baring its teeth, its fur bristling, the animal kept barking angrily at the culprit.

“The dog doesn’t seem to like you,” said one of the militiaman, to the unfortunate man’s despair.

“But if that guy was one of them, the collar would have reacted by now,” said another, staring at the animal’s collar, threaded with silver.

Another, more vigilant, noticed that their dog’s eyes were riveted on the man’s hands, groaning even louder when he moved them.

“What are you holding there? Anti-vampire weapons are forbidden to civilians!”

The man jumped, as if he just remembered the object. Overwhelmed, he immediately threw it in the snow.

“Forgive me! I just found it, it’s not mine! I wanted to show it to the Militia first thing tomorrow! I swear!!”

At the moment the object left the unlucky man’s hands, the dog lost all interest in him, and stepped back when the thing fell in the snow a few metres away. A righteous anger laced with panic took over the animal, as its silver-threaded collar began to glow sharply. Surprised, the militiamen looked at the object.

In the snow, a small tear-shaped stone was gleaming; probably high-quality amber. Meant to be worn as a pendant, there was a thred of black ribbon attached to it.

After some hesitation, one of the men got off his motorcycle and carefully picked up the object which proved to be harmless. The dog had quieted, but its eyes remained fixated on the jewel, while he growled silently.

“Very pretty,” whispered the militiaman to the culprit. “Where did you steal it?”

The man quivered, stammered even more.

“I didn’t steal it, I found it on the ground a few streets away! I can show you!”

When the militiaman approached the hound with the necklace, the animal drew back, groaning even more, as if ready to bite. Its sliver necklace, made to react to the presence of vampires, shone again. They all looked at each other knowingly.

“Yeah, show us!”.

At the centre of the amber stone, a small iridescent crystal was glowing.

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Cold. The wind in her hair, icy.

Snow under her boots, without smell, without colour, creaking and shining.

The pale and piercing gaze of the moon. Out of reach.

Her thoughts are a simple, unpleasant background noise, a wave lurking warily through her muffled mind. Only one stands against the Beast: flight.

Pain... excruciating pain. Pain everywhere.

She only sees flashes, only hears and senses fragments. The harsh contact of the walls she grazes in her run, a cat meowing in fright as she storms out of nowhere, a boat bell ringing far away.

Pain is burning, pain is a blade tearing through her insides without reprieve. It’s a white-hot iron pulsating in her canines, a monstrous and glowing mass behind her eyes, a misshapen creature moving under her skin, pulling on her sinews, crushing her bones, devouring her flesh, tearing her muscles apart.

Her heart is pounding, relentlessly, as if to fight away the insidious cancer gnawing at her. And yet, with each beat, what’s left of her consciousness feels her might disappear, while the beast grows stronger with rage, madness and desire.

It dreams, this _Beast_ . _It_ dreams of the life being butchered, blood pouring on the floor, soaking the earth so much it flows without end. _It_ dreams of warm and soft flesh, struggling under the fangs so much it lacerates itself, before giving up, shaking nervously, to the slow and never-ending fall into death.

 _It_ dreams, this _Beast_ , and, stronger with each passing second, _it_ passes its desires to her. And she, poor host, becomes more and more the mere witness of her defeat, she can only suffer, distraught, tortured, dispossessed, before giving in to the drunken feeling of a new-found, appalling freedom.

She finds herself dreaming too. Of her tongue savouring defenceless skin, shivering under her hands, as soft and gentle as they can be crushing. Of her silky hair, so long, pooling with opulence on her prey’s horrified face as she lingers over their ragged breath, their eyes filled with a despair she savours relentlessly. Of her lips, once sensual and caressing, now stroking, with a smile, the artery under the tensed skin. Of the charming whisper pulsating under the few millimetres of cells, of her sigh, an echo of this sweet litany.

And then the violence of her sharp fangs piercing the artery, the abundance of blood free at last from its cage of vessels, spilling into her throat, drowning her lips. Cascading in a crimson flood over her chin quivering with elation, as she swallows like a hungry new-born, finally feeding after too long a wait. The bestial bliss of holding life itself under her lips, her willowy and resolute body gripping the screaming and desperate prey. Her eyes shining with the same crimson colour as she watches the abandon on the face of her food, the final moment when they lower their eyelids, carrying to the void one last image. Her, gorgeous and splendid, her alabaster skin covered in blood, the radiant smile on her reddened canines, her laugh at last, pure, ecstatic, the laughter of a predator sated for a while, but who already thinks about her next prey!

These are the images the _Beast_ sends h er, that which w as and would always be within her. A primal and dangerously seductive creature, because _it_ knows how to ignite the savage instinct within her host. _It_ dictates its rules, imposes its law. There is no “I” anymore, no name or status. Why torture oneself? There is the prey, and there is “ _It_ ”, the Beast, the _Other_. Nothing else matters...

She nods before her _Other_ , exhausted, overwhelmed.

And she cries.

“ _Good evening, Yuuki...”_

The _Other_ backs off, roaring, before the figment of memory. That night, someone had come, had sated its host just enough to bring back her control. _It_ had been forced to bide its time, once more. A rush of hate comes to it, and, screaming, _it_ crushes this remnant of memory under its burning paws.

“ _Yuuki, do you have any idea how old I was when I stopped drinking human blood?”_

The _Beast_ growls, pushing away another manifestation of the one who muzzled it too often. Its host cries even harder in her flight, feeling her memories fade away one by one. In their stead, a present more dangerous than ever. In a rush of lucidity, she keeps on running, even deeper into the darkness, looking for some place to hide, where there will be no prey when she’s vanquished for good.

“ _ **Breathe!”**_

One day she had found the way...she had managed to keep the _Other_ from winning...

“ _ **Breathe, Yuuki!”**_

She can still do it...She has already found what she needs…

She reaches a deserted square, feels herself pulled to the liquid whisper...of a fountain? Without hesitation, she dips her hands and face in the water, which she finds biting cold. She screams, out of rage and despair, praying for the water to put off the fire, for the pain tearing her apart from the inside to back out before the cold.

She has to hold on! Make it so that, even if she loses, the Beast can’t break her vow!

“ _If one day, we succumb to our instincts, what we become is...”_

She’s hard at work, in a frenzy. _The Beast_ , too busy persuading her with its dreams, doesn’t pay attention to her nonsensical actions. _It_ snickers – and the snicker echoes in the empty square – when _it_ sees its host pulling out the small box that, in her madness, she still remembered to take. It groans with disgust as she takes the pills and puts them in her mouth, before letting herself fall head first into the dark basin.

A purely physical silence surrounds her. She drinks without stopping, and water has no taste, no savour. She hopes that the icy temperature can freeze her murderous desires as well. Drawn to it, she lets herself fall to the bottom, finding this less frightening than letting herself go, once and for all, into the depths of her mistreated soul. The sorry image of the one she loved comes back to her, and she clings to it with a strength born of despair, while in reality, she anchors herself even tighter to the _stone slab_ she took with her.

_Come break me down_

Finally sensing what its host is doing, _the Beast_ roars, tries to take back control. _It_ who excels in making blood flow, taking a life, _it_ is pitiful in its attempts to save itself. _Its_ hands, shaking weakly, numbed by the cold and slowed down by the last efforts of its host, slip on the rope bruising its neck. They scratch on the stone, struggle in the liquid hell, unable to grasp the surface.

After blood and heat, air comes lacking.

“ _ **Breathe!”**_

In the depths of the basin, its host smiles faintly. Just once, years ago, she almost lost control against her bloodthirsty self. She acted the same way, and it had worked...

_Bury me, bury me_

But because **he** came to save them, pummels _the Beast_ , no longer drunk with rage and freedom, but frozen with fear. Because **he** found them in time, took them out of the water its host had plunged them into. Would she rather die than break her pact? To die, rather than tasting someone else’s blood?

Without releasing the slight control she still has, Yuuki nods mentally, serene. Frightened, _the Beast_ sends her a flow of images and sensations, each more enticing, bloody and devouring than the last. Its host does not care. Her memories are enough.

_I am finished with you…_

She smiles, then closes her eyes.

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“ _I never would have thought it would be so...difficult.”_

_._

“ _Yuuki, do you have any idea of how old I was when I stopped drinking human blood?”_

_._

“ _If one day, we fall prey to our instincts, what we become is…_

_...nothing can stop us.”_

_._

“ _You had a life before I became a Pureblood. You have to get it back...”_

_._

“ _Because I want to be part of it...”_

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She would always remember the snowy plains, reaching as far as the eye could see, peppered with a few roads where some car or rider sometimes lingered. She would always keep in her mind this wintery silence, quiet and humbling, barely troubled by the plaintive song of rare birds, by a storm blowing some evening. Among all their stops in their travels, she kept a fond memory of this country house, although out of the three months they spent there, while the owners were away, she spent two beginning her withdrawal.

Two months, one totally alone, while, under her insistence, Kaname had left to renew contacts with some of his old acquaintances, who they had left behind almost a year ago. She had wished for his absence, for she thought him to be, in her worst moments, a real temptation to halt the process. Yes, she liked his presence at her side, his kisses, his embraces, and even more his blood when she was thirsty. But this was nothing next to the love she felt for him, her desire to become a Pureblood worthy of him and his projects…

She would always keep, carved in her mind, the memory of this lazy spring morning that had followed Kaname’s return and the end of the first step of her withdrawal. Nested against him, enjoying his presence with as much delight as she did his blood and their previous embraces, she had understood that none of her suffering would steer her away from her goal. That Kaname could say anything he wanted about the hardship of withdrawal for the Purebloods, neither his words nor what she had been through would change her mind…

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“You had a life before I became a Pureblood. You have to get it back...because I want to be part of it.”

She clenched her fist, her piercing gaze plunged into her brother’s eyes.

“And for this, I have to become strong, to be worthy of our parents’ name. I want to be able to come with you wherever you go, to assist you and protect you just as you protect me. I want to make you proud as your sister and as a Pureblood. For the Kuran name to come back into the light again, and so you don’t have to obey anyone because you’re the last of our family, alone and without anyone to support you.”

Kaname didn’t answer, looking surprised and lost in thoughts. His eyes became so pensive and inquisitive that Yuuki finally felt embarrassed. She remembered what she looked like right now –naked in the middle of this enormous mattress, barely covered by a white sheet, so light she barely felt it – and curled up instinctively, surly.

“What...what’s wrong? Do you think I’m too carefree? I’m serious!”

After a few remaining seconds, he had an enigmatic smile, and stroked tenderly his lover’s cheek, puzzled and vaguely blushing.

“No. You remind me of Juri, that’s all.”

“...ah?”

Yuuki blinked, her confidence all vanished.

“No matter how hard I try...I can barely remember her. Just that she... she sacrificed herself for me.”

“You were only six, it wasn’t your fault. She gave her own life to save what was most precious to her.”

Kaname embraced her and kissed her soft brown hair. Surprised at first, Yuuki closed her eyes and nestled against his torso. In this instant, she had never felt this close to tears.

Kaname whispered then, his voice strangely distant.

“Juri was a woman like I’d never seen in my past life. Beautiful and kind, always calm, sometimes carefree... but always brave, and strong in will and body. A Pureblood such as the Earth had rarely seen. During the few years I spent as her son, her lineage never got to her head. She remained fair and inflexible among her kind, serene and humble with the humans. She loved Haruka passionately, and the three millennia they spent together had only strengthened their passion. They completed each other. I couldn’t have hoped for better parents for my second life. And when time came for them to fight one last time, they didn’t hesitate for one second.”

Yuuki flinched at the reminiscence of the few memories she had of this fateful winter night. When her father and Kaname fought Rido, while Haruka lived his last moments, her mother gave her own life to protect her, with a final and unpredictable spell. A spell that made her, Yuuki, forget all about her Pureblood instinct. It sealed her in a harmless body, led her to grow, think and act like a human for ten years. A discreet and undetectable child. The perfect protection. Once Kaname had sealed Rido away, who would have thought to seek the hidden heir of one of the most powerful Pureblood families in a small human orphan?

“To give you a better chance at survival, they gave away the chance to protect you themselves. It was their most cruel choice, and their only regret. You can’t imagine how difficult it is to accept that someone you love will be better if you let them go.”

Yuuki almost replied, then bit her lip. A dark silhouette rose in the corner of her mind where she had hidden it. A silhouette with a silver gun, and murderous, deeply hurt amethyst eyes.

Oh yes... she knew. Only a little, but she knew...

“It probably wasn’t easy for you either,” she whispered, trying to let go of the past. “During all those years, I ignored you...”

Kaname seemed to ponder. When she looked up to catch his gaze, she caught a smile she never saw on him. A small, pleasing and bitter smile, making his eye glint with vague pain but also concealed happiness.

“To watch you grow as a human, happy, careful, mindless of the danger looming on you... it was painful, yes. And at the same time, I don’t regret one single day of those ten years. Even if Haruka and Juri feared it would only be temporary, you led the life they wanted to give you. A life of peace and joy, without having to think about tomorrow... with time, you will understand how priceless it was.”

Softly, he kissed her on her forehead. Then he let out a very small sigh, that only Yuuki, curled up as she was against him, could hear.

“I was alone, and jealous. I could only see you once in a while, and my visits were so... formal. I would have given anything to have the right to remain at your side. By the way, you didn’t make it easy for me.”

Yuuki smiled dreamily. How many hours had she spent waiting for her “saviour”, at the window or standing on her adoptive father’s front steps, ready to jump in his arms, quick as he was to embrace her with affection? The nights when Kaname was visiting, all the words, promises or gentle threats Kaien Kurosu could have used to send her to bed were useless. She had no words then to describe the complex feelings she felt in her strong and fragile little girl’s heart toward the young vampire. Now, she knew where this undying loyalty, filled with admiration, came from. Premises of a love already beyond her. They were soulmates, promised to each other as their parents had been before them. Nothing could have broken this bond, not even the best spell in the world.

“Why didn’t you do it, then? Before the Night Class was created, you had fewer responsibilities...”

But Yuuki already knew more or less the answer to her question.

“Because your secret would have suffered from it. Back then, I was there to visit Kaien Kurosu, legendary Association figure and old acquaintance of my parents. If I came too often, it would have brought attention to you.”

“I understand. And yet, I awaited your visits so eagerly,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Each of them made me feel like I was...someone important.”

Someone _wonderful_ …

Kaname tightened his embrace.

“Were it up to me, I would have come every day. I was so busy elsewhere, with all those scheming people surrounding me, that every time I managed to come and see you, you seemed to have grown taller. You were changing so fast, you smiled much more easily. Your laugh was each time more natural, more beautiful... one day, I even thought about never coming back.”

Yuuki shivered and rose up to look at him puzzlingly.

“What?”

All traces of joy or dreaminess had deserted Kaname’s perfect face. She looked for a sign of compassion, saw nothing but sadness and deep loneliness.

“Why? You would have left me?”

“You looked happy, as much as can be, and it was not because of me. With Kiryu’s arrival, you became even more asserted, and you showed me you weren’t just a cute little thing, without bravery or determination. You were doing very well without me, even as a Guardian, facing the other Night Class vampires. I always kept it from you, but... back then, it revolted me to see that you were becoming someone else, without showing any sign of returning to your vampire nature. I thought that Juri’s spell had worked too well, that she had realized her dream of protecting you forever from the ones trying to take the “Pureblood Princess”… Somehow, I was even scared.”

Kaname’s gaze darkened with sombre thoughts.

“Rido’s shadow was approaching. I feared I had to put an end to the human life you cherished so much myself. I was afraid that, once it was done, you would be too angry at me to forgive me. When you turned fifteen without showing any vampire aspect, I seriously thought you would not “awaken”. I thought about creating false leads so that no one doubted your origins, before disappearing from your life.”

He finally closed his eyes. Gently, Yuuki put her forehead against his. At her deepest core, she understood, _felt_ her brother’s despair who, after ten years of waiting in vain, thought himself to really be the last living Kuran.

“You would have been alone... all your life,” she whispered, a lump in her throat. “But I remembered...!”

Against all expectations, Kaname kissed her passionately. When he let her go, out of breath and a bit surprised, his eyes sparkled once more, with this gentleness only she knew.

“This is selfish of me, but I was never more relieved than when Kaien told me you were starting to have strange visions. With time, I could see that Juri’s spell was indeed weakening. Your instinct was coming back slowly, and your human nature couldn’t bear it. This is when I decided to act...”

“When you understood that I could no longer live as a human.”

Yuuki sighed, remembering despite herself the few horrible days preceding her transformation. In a way, it had been like falling to Level E. Back then, when sleep didn’t elude her, her nights were filled with nightmares. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t see the walls plastered with blood, not an hour without feeling a deep uneasiness in her heart and throat. In one of those moments, she had even attacked Zero. He hadn’t fought back.

Even he seemed to understand, back then, that this issue was beyond them both...

Yuuki lowered her eyelids briefly. Why did she have to think about it now? It was all in the past…

“Kaname... Did my human life seem so perfect,” she whispered in a tiny voice, “For you to choose to forget me? To live alone?”

He watched her pensively, then raised his head. This time, his kiss was more tender, like a silent apology.

“The enemy was near,” he whispered against her lips. “But I kept pushing back the moment when I had to “awaken you”. To be sure that the human Yuuki wouldn’t have any regrets.”

“Oh, Kaname...”

She embraced him, kissed him gently on the neck, where she usually fed blissfully. In this moment, more than any other, she realized how much he had loved her and still did.

What did she do until now to deserve him? So little…

“Teach me everything a Kuran has to know. I want to be as strong, as inflexible as you. I want to be able to be worthy of you, and of our family, when we come out again in the world”

Kaname chuckled in her ear, but his embrace tightened, in a way she started to recognize as slightly worried.

“There’s still a long way to go.”

“I know that...but trust me, I can do it.”

She freed herself from his arms, and her big amber eyes – which she knew were slightly tinted with crimson – got lost in Kaname’s.

“If you love me...agree to help me.”

And as a plea, she put her lips on his, with a reverence and a love far more telling than if she had kissed him fervently. Kaname breathed a bit deeper, then faintly smiled.

“If I have to... it would be my pleasure, Princess.”

Yuuki smiled back, triumphant.

This day, her decision was made. Everyone who thought her brother to be an asset as powerful as he was vulnerable in his loneliness would bitterly regret it.

For the Kuran family would shine once more in the Night World. At its head, a couple as powerful, formidable and united as the late Haruka and Juri Kuran...

.

.

Two years of withdrawal. Two years spent struggling, sometimes with Kaname, more often alone to avoid temptation. As time passed, it was easier to live a normal life, and the fits became more and more rare...

But they became ever more violent. Yet Yuuki never failed, not once.

Kaname seemed to admire her perseverance, he who went through the same ordeal perhaps more easily because of his experience. She remained strong even in her worst moments, and after two months she never let herself get taken over by the flow of anger and desire every Pureblood felt if left too long without any real blood. Hesitant every time he left her alone at her demand, for a few days or weeks, he always found her sound of mind, her hands and fangs free of any sign that she broke her pact, every time less exhausted and more beaming, happy to hold on, to be winning.

Yet, he didn’t always approve of her methods. The most extreme of which nearly even convinced him to halt the process prematurely, when he found his beloved at the bottom of the lake bordering the house she had retired to. Pulled out of water by force, she had shown all the symptoms of a fit, but stubbornly refused to take the blood he offered her before the due date.

A vampire is more resistant than a human, and the Purebloods even more so. Drowning isn’t a sure-fire way to kill a vampire, for their accelerated healing allows them to compensate for the cells dying by lack of oxygen. But, slowly, exhaustion sets in, insidious through the hours or days, and, sooner or later, the vampire, exhausted by this everlasting degeneration, finally dies.

Yuuki never said how long she had inflicted this punishment on herself, did not even clearly explain what had pushed her to such ends. For a long time, Kaname refused to leave her alone. She never tried to do it again, and the withdrawal, though as hard as expected, carried on without any other incidents.

Even when she fell prey to some of the most devouring fits of thirst in existence, Yuuki never faltered. To see Kaname again always marked the end of a step. To think about his return help her to stay lucid, magnified even further the moment when she could embrace him again. She hoped she could be worthy of the Kuran principles, to give them more weight once he agreed to introduce her to the Night World. Kaname’s memory was like an anchor in her very long struggle against the “Other”, as she secretly called this dark and savage side of her vampire persona. This dark _it_ that became so strong during her most violent fits that she almost thought it was a real person, trapped like her within her own body. Every time, Kaname had been a light at the end of the tunnel, sometimes even the only solid grip preventing her from falling and becoming the “Other” herself.

She never thought about what would happen if they were apart.

They were Purebloods, seen as invincible among their kin...Why would she have to?

.

.

.

His muscles tensed and painful, Zero was running breathlessly, as silent as the wind. Watchful to stay undetected by the patrols walking the deserted streets, his entire mind bent toward this bond he had never ceased to push away and deny for almost two months. This new “North” his consciousness pointed to, like a compass needle.

A needle pointing, tirelessly, toward the invisible and distant fire devouring his soul, a heap of urges as familiar as they were foreign, an unquenchable thirst making the vampire in him quiver with pain and desire.

Yuuki!

_What if I wanted to fight_

Automatically, he had gone back to their inn, but he had to face the fact that she wasn’t there anymore. The burning link chaining him was pulling him in the opposite direction, toward the docks...and the river. Zero didn’t dare to think what she could be doing there.

Led by his hunter instinct, he had carried on his way, and the inn appeared at the turn of a street. The building seemed to be in an uncommon commotion for such a late hour, and many of the windows were lit. With dread in his heart, Zero recognized the men on the porch, the black armband embroidered in red and silver they all wore. The Lisenthard Anti-Vampire Militia was ready for battle, heavily armed, with their dogs trained to pick up any scent left by a “Bloodsucker”.

_Beg for the rest of my life_

As if to mock all these potential enemies, the burning aura hit him at the core, and Zero hid in a nook of the wall, eyelids clenched, out of breath. His canines seemed to vibrate spasmodically, as if under electric shocks, and he knew that only one thing could soothe such a torture...except that this thirst wasn’t his. So what was the use?

With ragged breath, he looked up with tainted-red amethyst eyes to the star-filled sky. A vampire had done something in the inn, otherwise the militiamen wouldn’t be as numerous or agitated. Pictures of former massacres came back to him, atrocious and bloody memories gathered throughout his five years of missions for the Association. As a Hunter, he thought he had seen everything of the Level E bestiality, but the mere thought of such a scene awaiting him at the inn made his blood curl. Did Yuuki break her vow? And should he be surprised by it? Maybe this had nothing to do with her, maybe she had left the inn to avoid the Militia and their pressing questions?

But this _thirst_? What could have caused it?

As the pain became duller again, Zero glanced at the gathering. If he hadn’t been so unsure of his control, he would have already joined them and exploited his status as an experienced hunter to study the crime scene as he pleased. But the militiamen, as inexperienced as they were, wouldn’t be long to react to his irises turning ruby red. And there were their dogs trained to track vampires, too many of them to be avoided.

Back to his senses, at least as much as could be, Zero turned back, used the fire escape stairs of a nearby building to get to the roof. Trusting his instincts, he avoided without trouble of the guards circling the inn, reached the window of his room and opened it easily. Stealthily, he sneaked into the dark room, found his bag and checked it quickly. Even if Yuuki and he had checked in separately and at different times to blur their trail, he had no doubt that the Militia would at any moment order a search of all the rooms. His sabre and his multiple passports alone would be enough to earn him a stay in an interrogation room. He had to take off quickly...

He put the sheathe on his belt, under his coat, relishing in this presence now as familiar and comforting as the Bloody Rose in his holster. He put his bag on his shoulder and was about to leave the same way he had entered, when something grabbed his attention.

_What would you do?_

He couldn’t smell any blood. If a vampire murder had taken place in here, the atmosphere should have reeked of a smell delicious to the nose of a reluctant predator. But there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary…

Suspicious, Zero approached the chamber door, and, after checking his surroundings, opened it slightly to peek at the corridor. The room facing his –Yuuki’s – was opened wide: there were at least two persons inside, from the Militia according to their armband. With one look, Zero registered everything he could see, then closed his door and stepped back, frowning in the darkness.

A bomb exploding in Yuuki’s room would have achieved the same result, minus the burnt surfaces. He’d seen the torn drapes, the scraped floor, the shattered furniture against the walls, the glass panes blown away by an improbable indoor storm. The memory of Yuuki standing in the alcove of an ancient manor came back to him, and he saw again this mute rage escaping her grasp for one second as she talked about Kaname: that day, the wall had been slashed by an invisible claw, as the glass panes cracked. Such was one of Yuuki’s powers, and he had probably seen but a glimpse of it.

And today, she had been furious enough to ravage an entire room. On the floor, he had recognized the maps she showed him at the manor, and in a corner the satchel she always carried with her. She had left in a hurry, and it wasn’t like her to leave so much evidence behind…

Unless she had indeed _lost control_ , and that in one last flash of lucidity, chose to run away as far as possible from any potential prey. But it seemed so unlike Yuuki: her, loosing control? Ever since he found her again, a few weeks ago, she had never ceased to surprise him with her assurance and queenly attitude, her Pureblood act impressing him despite himself. He saw her mingle in the crowds with indifference, facing anti-vampire weapons without batting an eye, tasting the blood of a human and spitting it out despite the obvious desire in her pupils...

_You say you wanted more_

But, slowly, the pieces of an improbable puzzle fell into place in his mind.

A wall slashed because of an angry word. Her feminine face which had seemed too sunken and closed to all emotions as days passed. The brutal and traitorous thirst that took over him on the train, without reason, and reminiscence of it for one flashing second as he had looked into her indifferent-looking eyes at the station…

And finally, this unexplained urge as he talked with the Butcher, this nearly-irrepressible thirst that dominated him for a short instant, at the very same moment when Yuuki probably lost control in her room.

_What are you waiting for?_

Suddenly everything made sense. Yuuki was wrong: no matter how many Blood Tablets she took, she couldn’t fight against her instinct forever. And because of a fucking twist of fate, the bond chaining them together made him feel the same torture! Probably less so, seeing the damage caused by Yuuki, but still bloody inconvenient!

Zero swore under his breath. What now? With the mess she left behind her, the town was under alert. Some higher-ups in the Militia might suspect vampire powers owned by Aristocrats and Purebloods, and such chaos could raise some suspicions. Some of the self-proclaimed defenders of Lisenthard were former military, but the majority were civilians, nervous, but reckless and daring. Sooner or later, Yuuki wouldn’t be able to control herself anymore, and God knew what would happen if she crossed their path…

As if to mock him, his thirst suddenly decreased. With relief and horror, Zero felt the fire recoil, diminish, becoming duller and duller, leaving his body stronger and his mind clear. With a disconcerting facility, his fangs went back to their original length, as his throat, less parched, was clenched not with thirst but dread. Would he be able to know if Yuuki had met a patrol and fought, if she had been attacked and hurt? If she did the irrevocable, wouldn’t he feel it, a sudden savage thrill, then her quenched thirst, as delicious as it was shameful?

_I'm not running from you_

Within him, the vampire was silent, puzzled, while, cold and indefinable, another feeling took over Zero. A feeling...or rather the heavy certainty that something was wrong. A strange, but pressing feeling, telling him he had to get going. He had to reach her. _As quickly as possible._

More worried about this new urge – death, sleep, self-destruction? – than he could say, Zero ran to the window. In his coat pocket was the ammunition box the Butcher gave him.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to use their destructive power before long.

.

.

.

Her mind finally at ease, she was floating in mid-water. Inside her, life was slowing down, saving itself to enter the slow and destructive hibernation she chose to endure. As if frightened by this instinctive and excessive response, the Other backed off, became smaller, faded away.

“ _Breathe, Yuuki!”_

And there was silence. Infinite, indefinable...

“ _ **Breathe!”**_

From the depths of her memory, a man’s voice was screaming, a voice she never thought she’d heard being so... _afraid_. Memories laced with reality. The dark depths of the basin overlapped with the bog of a lake.

Dreams became shapeless, lethargic.

_Look in my eyes_

The surface of the water, peaceful and tranquil above her head, was suddenly pierced by a body, a muffled sound reminding her of Kaname’s jump. That day, he had swum to her hastily, took her limp hand and cut the rope holding her back, brought her back to the shore while begging her.

“ _ **BREATHE!”**_

Like a plant reviving under the sun, at the contact of the air she finally obeyed him, left the long process her body had undergone to survive. She had opened her eyes, and felt, relieved, that while her thirst was still present, the “Other” had backed away, silent once more, as if admitting its defeat. Kaname didn’t understood her gesture, or her weak smile, even less her refusal to drink his blood before the due time.

_You're killing me, killing me_

The hand pierced the water, grabbed her arm, pulled her upward. A blade shone in the liquid darkness, cut the cord chaining her to the stone. The hand pulled her to the light, out of the water, threw her to the ground.

Obeying once more the command of a distant memory, she took a deep breath.

_All I wanted was you…_

.

.

Her heartbeat was pounding in her head, a muffled and horribly slowed rhythm. She was shaking with cold. Under her cheek, snow was soft and downy, though icy. With difficulty, coughing and spitting water out of her painful lungs, she panted, her mind still in a blur. She knew only one thing: the “Other” had not won. It was well-worth a few hours of exhaustion after her nearly-drowning...

Too exhausted to look up, her sight blurred by a strange crude light, she thought she recognized a familiar silhouette from between her eyelashes: the travelling shoes of a man stepping back, the bottom of a long black coat, and the end of a silver blade. She tried to talk, but her throat was still aching, and she could only speak a few husky words.

“Thank you, Zero...”

She knelt painfully. The clicking sound of a weapon echoed behind her, while she felt a cold barrel on her neck.

“Move just one finger and I blow your brains out, monster.”

Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. Unable to recognize this unknown voice full of anger, she slightly turned her head, caught a glimpse of the man looming behind her, barely got time to recognize the red and silver black armband. With a hateful smirk, the militiaman grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back, forcing her to kneel while pressing the barrel of his weapon to her neck.

“I told you to stay still!”

A pained moan escaped her, unable to stop it. All her strength had gone in the exhausting struggle against the “Other”. When she managed to open her eyes, until then blinded by the crude light coming from God-knew-where over the pale moonlight, she felt what was left of her confidence deserting her.

_I tried to be someone else_

The small square where she had found the life-saving basin, empty when she arrived, was now circled by the Milicia. With just one glance, she knew she was surrounded by a dozen men. Their motorcycles were still roaring, their lights all turned on her like as many accusing rays. But the engine noises weren’t enough to cover the growling of the hound staring at her with rage and terror, its collar shining, or the clicking sounds of the rifles, guns, and other firearms pointed at her.

The barrel on her neck pressed even harder against her skin, and she instinctively raised her hands to it, bending to try to escape the horrible pain in her skull. She understood at once finally how vulnerable she was. As if awoken by this terrible feeling, the “Other” agitated once more, shivering with anger. Yuuki tried to focus on it, to push it back in its still too-fragile cage. Someone, the man with the sabre, barked a question, or an order, she had no idea. As she didn’t answer, the pull on her hair increased, and she miraculously stopped herself from screaming in pain.

_But nothing seemed to change_

Everything was happening at the same time, too fast. No way to think. A primal fear began to take over her mind blurred by her drowning, and no words or gesture to defend herself came to her. Frozen in fear, mindful only of the fact that the “Other” was coming back, tears of despair escaped her. This couldn’t be, not so soon!

This couldn’t end so badly!

“ **Kaname!”**

Around her, they were all fooled. Surprised at first, the militiamen looked at this perfect and mortified face, streaked by two tears of pure terror. And they finally saw her for what she was.

The ebony hair, so long, still damp, that drew dark arabesques on her neck and temples. This silhouette, so slender it looked about to break, her form highlighted by her wet dark clothes, bent in pain under the light of the moon.

There were glances exchanged, whispers, some weapons lowered. Lost in her inner mist, Yuuki only felt the change in the air when someone said out loud what they were all thinking:

“She doesn’t look very dangerous... but she’s pretty hot.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. As she bent and tried vainly to free herself, she met her torturer’s eyes, and saw, beyond the hate and resentment, an inconceivable _interest_. Realizing he was ogling her breasts, quite visible under her clothes, she froze. Noticing her trouble, he let her go ruthlessly, and she fell on the snowy ground, weak and defenceless. Instinctively she curled up on herself, looked around hauntingly. A few meters away, the militiamen had lowered their weapons. And to her horror, some of them were smiling.

Inside her, the “Other” growled. Its voice, reeking of blood and death, echoed, tyrannical, and began to gnaw at the little reason she had recovered.

_I know now, this is who I really am inside…_

Around her, they talked in low voices and she couldn’t listen to them. Looking absent-mindedly in front of her, she was trying to contain the Beast, who answered to her with new bloody images. Her shaking, curled-up posture probably passed for the frightened stoicism of a victim barely understanding what was happening to her.

The man with the sabre walked to her with a smirk, and as if to stop her from reacting, she felt the barrel of his companion’s rifle once again on her neck, threatening. Yuuki emerged with difficulty from her inner torment, and met his gaze: his eyes gleamed with a depraved glint, that would have frightened any other woman.

“Your kind are as beautiful as they’re clever, right?” muttered the man, probably the leader. “To let you go, you’ll have to give us a very good reason.”

Until then shivering with cold, exhaustion and terror, Yuuki suddenly froze, stiller than a statue. Inside her gorgeous brown eyes illuminated with red, the man thought he saw the usual fear followed by the horrified resignation, so delectable to inspire. In this moment, he was, like his companions, horribly certain that her plump and enticing lips would not purl over her fangs, ready for a different kind of stroke to survive.

Yuuki didn’t ask herself any questions about the former victims, how many they had been.

Neither if, among the ones meant to represent order and protect the city from the vampire threat, some could, in the dead of the night, trap a woman, human or not, and use their number and their strength.

She didn’t wonder how far she would have to go to leave safe and sound, or even if they would even let her live. She didn’t try to know if it was best to resist and die right away.

She only saw the amber pendant at the man’s neck.

_Finally found myself_

She put her hand to her own neck, and almost fainted when she didn’t find the familiar contact of the warm stone on her skin. The stranger had an amused sneer, grabbed the crystal amber and spun it between his gloved fingers.

“This is what you want? Maybe we can find an agreement...”

_Fighting for a chance_

She heard nothing of the horrible deal he started to state. Brutally, she grabbed the barrel of the weapon still pressed against her neck. It broke like it was glass.

And, for the very first time, she opened the “Other’s” cage herself.

.

.

… _I know now…_

.

.

.

.

.

 

… _ **This is who I really am!**_

 

 

_**[Inspired by: "The Kill (Bury Me)" - 30 Seconds To Mars](https://youtu.be/JjPIOuFtWAI) ** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a cruel way to end a chapter, don't you think? We'll see you next week 😀  
> Do you want a writer's commentary of a particular scene of this fic? Maybe even a bonus chapter? Well, you know what to do...  
> Come and ask! We'll be happy to answer back... without too many spoilers ;-)


	12. Chapter Seven: "Bury... me" - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! We hope you enjoyed last week's chapter. This one is shorter, but you should like it nonetheless 🙂

 

_Chapter Seven - Part Two_

 

[Inspired by this music](https://youtu.be/JjPIOuFtWAI?t=149)

 

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Zero was running to the docks when **_it_** fell upon him like a bird of prey. _Crushing_ him on the ground before taking him in its talons, dizzied by the brutal vertigo of pain and death.

**_It_** was rage, suffering, anger, hatred, want, desire, terror, all made into one destructive urge. The death urge, ravaging everything, uncaring about the killer or the target.

Knocked over by the pain, he had not even touched the ground before the roaring fire put his entire body and mind into a red-hot heat. The invisible and macabre monster was crawling under his skin, tearing his muscles, making his own blood boil. His canines lengthened excessively, like a maddened answer to this murderous thirst that did not belong to him. Under his clenched hands, he should have felt the cold snow, and yet it was as if he was plunging them into a warm, oozing and incredibly pleasant pool of freshly spilled blood.

As he lay frozen on the ground, shaking uncontrollably, his mind remained as clear as ever, witnessing every moment of his physical decay. In a few seconds, he felt all the pain and the abomination of several months of a Level E transformation.  It would have driven him insane, if the night hadn’t been pierced by a horrible scream: his own, a mere echo of the faraway cry, hateful and desperate, of the one he was bonded to. The sound of several dozen shots answered the screams.

**“Yuuki!”**

Without knowing how, he was already up and running like the wind, in full possession of the inhuman speed of a vampire. Streets flew by, all the same, all deserted, meaningless to his obsessed mind. The expected and dreaded smell of blood assaulted him, heavy and smothering, and he knew he wasn't far. At last, he arrived in a small square, and what he saw was beyond anything he could have imagined.

Under the revealing light of the moon, the snow was no longer white but scarlet. The remnants of a dozen motorcycles were burning, throwing amber reflections on the broken silver weapons scattered everywhere. The walls were splattered with long and sharp red gashes, where someone had tried to run away and was reduced to shreds of bloody flesh. Horror reigned on this nightmarish scene, where guts furiously disembowelled lay next to torn limbs. Everywhere, Death’s sharp claws had struck, methodically, bloodthirsty, compulsive, its only desire to cause excruciating pain before the end. At the other end of the courtyard was a fountain whose basin had been broken. Water was pouring onto the snow, reddened by the torn corpse thrown into it.

While the vampire inside him was torn between violent jealousy and boundless admiration, Zero, despite being an accomplished hunter, heaved, dismayed by the atrocities unfurling with each passing second to his trained eye. A wet gurgling sound turned his attention to a dark cul de sac. And he finally saw her: haughtily, she was holding a dead man by the throat at arm’s length. She dropped him carelessly, and the body twice her size fell at her feet, lifeless, pouring a crimson stream over her already-soaked black boots.

**_This is who I really am!_ **

Silent, she stared at the newcomer, and in the darkness of the alley, her pupils shone with a luminous crimson, defiant, wild. With a slow and deliberate step, more mesmerizing than ever, she came out of the alley and looked at Zero in the eye. Her long, wet and unkempt hair was flowing in the night wind and looked like it had been drenched in blood. Her hands, too, were adorned with scarlet snakes over her white skin.

Her expressionless face was covered in fresh red spatters, while tell-tale streaks were drying on her lips. Her usually pearly canines were tainted with blood.

Zero remained frozen, unable to talk or even to think. The vision he had secretly built these past few years was now imposing itself upon him, as if out of his worst nightmares. The girl he had once seen as his own sister and had loved even more than that, now perverted by the lowest instincts of the Night World. She was there before him, indifferent, her body radiating all the horror of murder, possessed by her Pureblood savagery and power. Blinding and spectacular, bathed in blood and anger, more dangerous and beautiful than ever. Before this apocalyptic vision, this living image of the goddess of death, sublime and fiery, any vampire would have fallen to his knees.

Zero simply didn’t have the time. The vampiress’ eyes widened suddenly with rage, betraying her lust for violence and murder, until now momentarily suspended. The next moment she had disappeared. Zero then felt the flesh of his back split, swept by a slashing strike as swift and sudden as it was deep. Pain brought back reason, and, filled with the same uncontrollable rage as his enemy, he turned back and leapt at her, his blade unsheathed.

The deadly and stunning dance of two vampires, one fighting for his life, the other for murder. Most of his movements, offensive or defensive, Zero executed them instinctively, choosing to rely entirely on the monster inhabiting him for so long. But she was too fast and too powerful, kept dodging with inhuman grace, using strikes and feints he never had to face. Their ruby eyes locked, and little by little, terror and an inexplicable disappointment overcame him, as he only saw in her a desire for violence. Pure madness, devastating anger.

His exhaustion and his thirst increased inexorably, as his own blood was smearing his back and clothes, running in long warm streaks with each movement.

Maybe because they were bonded, he felt the final strike come far before it happened, hitting his skull. Stunned, he was thrown on the ground, and in one last reflex pulled the Bloody Rose out of its holster as she ran to him, fangs out. The metallic clicking sound stopped her dead in her tracks, and she remained still, a few centimetres away from his throat, as if struck by lightning. Against her side, she had felt the commanding pressure of the barrel of the Bloody Rose, ready to shoot.

Short breaths wheezing from between her pearly fangs, she plunged her fiery eyes into the hunter’s equally crimson irises. For a long time, they could only stare at each other, their ragged breath the only sound in the sepulchral silence of the square. And suddenly the veil of anger and murderous desire blinding them both disappeared: he finally felt all the pain and sorrow she was keeping within herself, far more frightening and harrowing than the violence and rage she had just unfurled.

“I’m begging you...do it!”

_Come break me down_

He didn’t recognize her voice, so weak and plaintive, filled with tears. This voice sounded suddenly too much like the old Yuuki’s, the frail and defenceless teenager.

“Go on... **Kill me!** ”

__

_Bury me, bury me_

She had whispered her request in a whimper, but it was as strong as rolling thunder in his ears saturated with adrenalin. While he had been ready to shoot a few seconds ago, his hand froze, unable to pull the trigger. On the bloody cheeks of the one who had just become the most merciless killer this city ever knew, he finally noticed a clearer streak, traced by her previous tears. He looked at her puzzlingly, out of breath. And the hardened face of the young woman turned into a mask of pure despair, even more upsetting.

“I don’t want to drink their blood... please, you have to stop me... or it will keep on killing until I let it do it...”

Swiftly, she grabbed the barrel of the Bloody Rose and aimed it on her heart.

“I want to keep my oath, I have nothing left of him, except **this**! ... **Kill me!** ”

Yuuki’s begging and desperate voice was followed by a shot rolling through the courtyard, cruel and ill-boding. Yuuki’s eyes widened, surprised and relieved, but the bullet merely grazed her skull, only injuring her slightly. Mortified, Zero took his eyes off her and saw one of the men he had thought dead, still holding his smoking gun.

“You bitch!” he screamed, reloading his weapon.

Yuuki’s faced froze again, devoid of emotion, as her eyes filled with an irrevocable fury. With an inhuman shriek, she forgot Zero and ran straight to the survivor.

**“Yuuki, no!”**

He ran after her, but she was already on the unfortunate man, screaming with pain. When he grabbed her shoulder, she had already torn off his face with one hand while her fangs, drunk with madness and desire, lingered near the still-pulsating throat of her victim. Without hesitation, he hit her violently on the neck and took advantage of her brief vertigo to pull her away from the dying body. Then he glimpsed the walkie-talkie in the dying man’s clenched hand.

“Shit…!”

Before he could even consider the magnitude of the danger, the deep and deafening song of a siren rang above the sleeping town. Screams and orders echoed from far away, and already his enhanced hearing was picking up the roaring sound of the nearest motorcycles, all converging on the port. The place would soon be swarming with militiamen and civilians – brave or reckless, maybe both – all armed to the teeth.

“We have to take off, and quick…!”

Ready to flee, Zero glanced at Yuuki, and dread heaved his stomach; tensed like an animal ready to pounce, she looked around frantically with defiance, her chest rising with excited breath. Zero felt it in every figment of his body: she would do anything for another massacre, even shedding her own blood. She wasn’t able to think anymore. She was about to get them both killed! What could he do?

_I am finished with you, you, **you!**_

What could a mere wounded vampire do, under his mistress’ destructive madness because of a bond he still couldn’t explain? What could he do to help this very Pureblood who, somewhere in the depths of her sick mind, wanted everything to end?

Not one moment did he think of to leaving her to face the Lisenthard army. Maybe because of this absurd link, he feared he would die if she did? Maybe because no one, not even her, deserved to fall under the fire of an army of incompetent humans, led to violence by anger and fear?

But how to quench a mad vampiress’ thirst, when she refused to drink a drop of blood? And to whom to turn, who could he steal blood from, in this city where no one would let themselves be caught off-guard now that the alarm had been raised?

_A smile in the shadow, a caressing hand, a soothing voice._

A horrible solution suddenly came to him, born from the only peaceful memory Zero had of this town smeared by a sordid case. He didn’t have time to think twice.

He ran to Yuuki who, obsessed by the upcoming fight, couldn’t stop the guard of the sabre hitting her on the neck. She collapsed without a sound, unconscious. Unceremoniously, Zero took her in his arms and left the premises running. A few seconds later, the lights of the first patrols shone on the appalling carnage of the small courtyard.

.

.

Blood.

Red, oozing blood on her skin, warm and sticky blood on her clothes.

Howling wind, wind drying her eyes opened to the night, wiping away her furious and desperate tears.

Blood on her clenched lips, blood on her tongue and still she tries to spit it out. Enough.

Her conscience tortures her. A stupid, unnatural promise. To what end! There is no love, love is no more. She can destroy, destroy! She mutters, mutters without end. Nevermind the blood, nevermind life. If she can't do it, she might as well kill, lacerate, tear apart, scatter, explode, lash, crash, assassinate.

Blood. Bloodlust. Again. Again! A rattle in her dry throat. She cries. Enough, enough! Destruction is the only answer, to kill is the only way out of this torture. Her thoughts are a mist, a blood-soaked mist. Good, good. Less thinking, less pain. Destruction keeps the mind numb. Destruction is the answer.

Unmoving. Unable to move. Iron grip. Surprise. Rage. Who?

Eyes opened, watching. Horrified face, strained, focused. Ruby-red eyes on her. A distant voice.

“Yuuki!”

Anger. Pain in her neck. He hit her, he _hit_ her! He’s taking her away. She doesn’t move, can’t move because of him. In his arms. Shame. She struggles. No results. Prisoner. She growls in rage.

Stronger, him? Stronger than her? No, no. To make him submit, by voice, by command, possible. She searches, searches in the mist, emerges a bit.

 

.

Pain is awaiting her, welcomes her, unstoppable. She can think, but it hurts. To think of something other than destruction hurts. On the surface, _They_ still fight, “the one who wants to drink” and “the one who wants to run”. Words come back to her.

“Zero... Zero, let me go!”

She struggles, fights against his hold. His arms are inflexible, and she exhausts herself against them. How dare he? In a fury, she pummels his ribs, tears his chest with her nails.

“Let me go!”

“So you can go slaughter those people and get us both killed? Surely not!”

She shudders, a lump in her throat. He opposes her, he _answers_ back to her. Impossible. Impossible and dangerous. She looks around, lost. He’s running. Enters into a basement. A burnt smell surrounds them, heavy, full of an ancient and strange suffering. As if grazed by some invisible ghost, she shudders. He puts his hand on a nailed-down door. Trapped in her inner torments, she doesn’t understand everything, grasps some random words like “association” and “pact”. A silver and purple light runs along the wood and stone. Magic quivers, aggressive to her vampire senses. Hunter magic, no longer natural and instinctive, but corrupted by science and calculation. The seal breaks. The barricade crumbles, and Zero takes her to the revealed underground passage.

Dark corridors, again and again. Blackened pavement, burnt furniture, carbonised drapes. All the windows walled up. And the floor, the walls all oozing with infinite suffering, with the rusty smell of blood. People suffered, people died there, dozens and dozens of humans. In a way that makes “the one who wants to drink” salivate. “The one who wants to run” panics, and their invisible fight tortures her.

“Where are you taking me?” she moans, still struggling.

“Somewhere safe! Where you can come back to your senses!”

_Look in my eyes_

Anger boils in her, bright and painful. It pulls her upward, way above her primal desire of destruction. Since when... since when?

Yes, **since when** is he the one who decides?

 

.

.

She emerged a bit more from the peats where she had willingly drowned, recovered all the consciousness she previously abandoned to avoid suffering.

**“Leave me alone, Zero. That’s an order!”**

He finally stopped, for he could only obey to her authoritarian voice. She savoured her meagre triumph as he opened his arms. But in letting her go, he gave a curious impulsion, as if throwing her away. She slipped, her feet only met emptiness, and she cried out, her blood-drenched hands flailing in the air. Her eyes swept over the great dark room, finding nothing to hold on to, then saw the ground, a few meters below her. Out of reflex, she turned and landed with cat-like grace on the dirt ground. Stunned, mute with rage, she looked up frantically in the darkness, looking for the one who so easily betrayed her.

_You're killing me…_

From the edge of the hole, Zero looked at her fearlessly. His ruby eyes shone in the darkness as he stared at her, his face strained but devoid of emotions. Her throat dry, her fangs so large they were hurting her, she screamed.

“What are you doing? Get me out of here!”

She studied the dark hole, the few burnt beams, the skeletal and vaguely gilded remains of a big chandelier. Nothing that could help her.

“I command you to come and get me!”

“No.”

The word rolled in the air like thunder. She felt like she was falling once more, and yet the ground was there, hard under her feet.

_…Killing me!_

“What?”

She lost her voice. Suddenly, her bloodlust, her desire for violence and destruction, all her unavoidable torments seemed so tiny, compared to the unknown feeling awoken by Zero’s blunt refusal. She glared at him, he who up there seemed to suddenly bend, as if under a deep strain. His face was tensed with pain and some hesitation, but he did not blink.

“I am your mistress! You owe me your loyalty and obedience! I **command** **you** to get me out of here!”

“ **No**! For once, you’re going to listen to me! So calm down!”

Had she been in full possession of her senses, she certainly could have gotten out of this hole herself. But she crumbled, her legs suddenly strengthless. A strange feeling of weakness took hold of her, completely foreign to the rage and bloodlust that until then made her stand.

“You have to pull yourself together. You want to keep your oath. If you carry on like this, you won’t make it out alive. Here, you can scream all you want, no one will hear you. You won’t kill anyone. You have to pull yourself together, Yuuki.”

Horrified, she heard Zero’s muffled voice echoing in her deepest core, becoming as many chains on her will. Her wrath remained, her mind stayed clear, but from the outside she was but a tiny obedient thing, her fangs useless and her claws trimmed. A tear fell on her bloodstained cheek, a tear she couldn’t stop. A tear of anger, but also of fear and incomprehension.

“You’ll stay here until you’re in control again... _that’s an order,_ ” he whispered.

In one split second, the cursed link between them had **_reversed_** itself. Impossible. And yet, she was at his mercy. The very last thing that made her a Pureblood, control over every life, had been taken from her. And by whom? By the one, she suddenly realized, she had always both loved and hated.

Inconceivable. But real.

She fell on her knees, devastated.

“Let me die, Zero...”

Stunned, drowned in her sorrow and her unquenchable thirst, she didn’t see the devastating effect her words had on the hunter. Almost bent in two by the pain she was still transmitting to him, he finally turned from the prison he left her in. The same thirst preyed on them both, and he knew now that a few words wouldn’t be enough to push it away.

_All I wanted was you_

Heavy-hearted, he left the great room he once saw engulfed in a fire. He knew what he had to do, but never since he had been bitten by a Pureblood, had he felt as disgusted with himself.

.

.

 

Somewhere, thousands of kilometres away, an alarm rang.

A watchman checked his devices; these mechanisms worked both through magic and science. After a few seconds of checking, the man went to warn his direct superior, as per protocol. As he grabbed the phone and dialled the number, he suddenly hesitated, and dialled another, looking worried. As he waited for the dial-tone to end, he played with his pen distractedly, something unusual for him. If there was a criterion to choose people like him, it was nerves of steel.

Finally, someone picked up the phone.

“Hello?” muttered a hoarse voice.

The watchman didn’t apologize for the late hour of the call, that explained the sleepy tone of his conversation partner.

“Mister Yagari? It’s me...from the Archive Department,” he said as if it was obvious. “You asked to be warned if some cases “awoke”.”

“Which one?” answered the other, suddenly more alert.

“Lisenthard. Human traffic to vampire ends. Taken down two years ago. The seal keeping the premises confined just got broken.”

“Alright. I’m on it,” said the other in an imperative tone. “Nothing happened, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Diligently, the watchman hung up. No questions asked. Such was the favour he agreed to in order to settle an old debt.

.

As for Yagari, he immediately called another number. The person answering didn’t have time to talk: he took over with his hoarse voice.

“Kaien? Yagari here. Zero’s in Lisenthard. We take your jet. We’re up in thirty.”

For once, the other didn't protest and immediately hung up.

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.

.

_Come break me down_

_Bury me, bury me…_

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_“Don’t go outside. Check all the openings. I’ll try to see you tomorrow soon as the curfew’s over.”_

“Yes, uncle. Don’t worry...”

She rolled her eyes, knowing that her impatience had started to show in her tone. The word “Uncle”, that she rarely used anymore, always betrayed her slight irritation. He doubted her carefulness...didn’t he know her more than anyone?

_“Don’t let anyone come in tonight,”_ he added with an almost-hesitant tone. _“The streets aren’t safe.”_

“I heard the siren, you know. Like all of Lisenthard. I already checked everything twenty minutes ago.”

_“Do you still have the revolver I gave you? Does it work?”_

“I take it apart and clean it every week. At each alert, I keep it loaded close to hand,” the young woman sighed. “Why do you ask all these questions? You know very well that I don’t take those things lightly.”

_“I know, I know, Elora...that’s just how it is. Give Nathan a kiss for me.”_

“Of course. Be careful.”

Her uncle whispered a goodbye, then hung up. She put down the phone slowly. Frowning, she put her hand in the pocket of her dressing gown, taking out a small silver revolver. The weapon shone in the firelight of the wood-burner. The cold contact made her shiver. Her uncommon grey eyes went from the weapon to the scars covering her hands. She quickly put the revolver back in her pocket and straightened her dressing gown over her woollen brown dress from yesterday, which she hastily put on when she heard the siren. She crossed her arms on her chest. A chilly gesture that had nothing to do with the room temperature.

"This is nothing," she told herself, briefly closing her eyes. "This is nothing, you're safe." She listened to the crackling embers in the wood burner, the whisper of the fire, the silent neighbourhood. Even if she focused, she couldn't hear the dreaded sound of the Militia motorcycles, which was a good sign. The danger was far away.

Swiftly, silently, she walked to a door left ajar and glanced into the other room. Despite the darkness, she could see the big bed she had occupied a few minutes ago, and the child still sound asleep. She smiled, moved. Nathan, at least, wasn't easily disturbed by the Lisenthard siren. No nightmares haunted his nights, save from the ones all small boys have. Necessary dreams, so easy to chase away with a hug, a word, a kiss. And she thanked the heavens every day for it.

She quietly closed the door, turned away and took place in front of the chimney where welcoming flames were dancing. She sat on the patched, solitary armchair, stroking in passing the old dog’s head asleep near the hearth. Bear asked for a few more strokes, then sighed happily before falling back asleep. The mother smiled.

This old armchair, this hunting dog now relaxing near the fire, and a few personal belongings, this was all that was left from her former life, that used to be… rich and full of leisure. She didn't regret it: she understood and accepted, as time passed, that her life in this great Lisenthard house, by her wealthy husband, the mayor, had been nothing but an appalling web of lies. From this gilded existence, that ended so brutally, she had only kept a few things, the love of a few caring relatives, and her son, safe and sound, who filled her with happiness every day. She took back her maiden name, claiming a desire to remain discreet and keep her new neighbours from giving her the attention the late Mayor's widow deserved. Her pension, which she only accepted to keep her child safe from need, was enough for their simple life.

Her eyes got lost in the flames, and for a second the soft dove-grey of her pupils became colder than the steel of her revolver, which she always kept on her. She had kept nothing from her husband. Had she been the only one to survive, she would even have refused the money he left her when he died. To depend on him, in any way, was unbearable. Fortunately, her reluctance to mention or hear about her late husband was seen among her friends and family as silent mourning, too heavy to carry. Even in death, the former mayor was an admired man, that the whole city had lost with its council in the tragic town hall fire two years ago.

Anyone who knew the hatred his widow felt toward him would have been horrified.

_Break me down…_

But what else could be expected from a woman who, along with her child, had been sold to a gang of wealthy vampires by her own husband? Who had to protect her son from his father’s very fangs, and who almost died in doing so?

Elora settled in the armchair, a lump in her throat, the revolver on her lap. Even today, the flames dancing in the hearth reminded her of the atrocious smell of the inferno, the stench of the burning corpses. Her open wounds, scaring her body by the dozen, were now only small but numerous scars on her pale skin. She never went outside without wearing covering clothes and gloves, hiding everything but her head, miraculously spared. Gossip had given a reason to this never-changing outfit: she had tried to save her husband and son from the fire that night, and had kept impressive burns. She let the rumour fly, as it was quite convenient.

Lisenthard was a big harbour town, and she didn’t know the travellers who died that night, most of them bled dry before her very eyes. Yet she would never forget their screams as the men were tortured. The pleas of the women as they were raped before being given to their red-eyed counterparts, who made them go through even worse before finally gracing them with death.

Because of her rank and her singular beauty, Elora had been kept “for the end”, which explained why, when the orgy had been interrupted, she had only gone through a painful “foreplay”. As for her son, only a few months old back then, he had been carefully studied but thankfully unharmed: she thought she had heard, between her screams, that he was destined to be “gifted” in a later event. To think about what would happen to him had been and still was the worst torture, far more painful than her memories and scars, which she had learnt to live with. To give up everything to fall into despair and madness would have been easier, but she never allowed herself to even consider it. As she was her son’s protector, he was as much her own anchor to not sever definitely her ties with the outside world.

Two in the morning rang on the kitchen clock. She emerged from her thoughts, both surprised and glad to find herself in her armchair by the fire, with a loaded gun on her lap and Nathan still asleep in the other room. Not many things lacked in this picture of a simple life she had built for herself and her child. Maybe one day she would consider tolerating other men’s smiles and displays of attention. After all, she was a twenty-seven-year-old widow, as her obliging friends and family reminded her. But to remarry was but a distant prospect, barely sketched. Anyway, she suddenly realized, it wasn’t the _idea_ of a relationship that came to mind when she thought about some suitors, but the role they might play as a father to Nathan. So, she had been able to survive and remain sound of mind: by placing her son at the centre of a life otherwise devoid of meaning.

While she was gently falling asleep, her eyes lost in the flames, she remembered her son’s pout or polite smile toward all the men gravitating in their circle. Among them, only one Nathan had welcomed with a joyful cry.

**_…Break me down!_ **

Someone knocked at the door. Elora sat up straight immediately, wide-eyed. Who could it be at this hour? Her uncle wouldn’t have gone outside in the middle of the night without warning her. Her own experience and the advice of her smothering but well-meaning relative came back to her mind, and she waited. A small happy puff came from the rug. She looked down at Bear; these days, only a few things managed to wake him up like this. A knock again, more gentle, and the dog lying before the chimney started to wag his tail weakly, his blind eyes fixated on the door. Elora stood up silently and looked into the peep-hole, her gun in her hand. She restrained a surprised exclamation when she recognized the person standing under the porch. She immediately unlocked the door.

“Tristahn?”

She opened the door wide, forgetting the crumpled clothes under her dressing gown and the revolver she was still holding.

He was there. The man who had gone alone against an entire party of barbaric vampires, saved Nathan and killed his vampire father before he could commit the ultimate crime. The one who pulled them from the fire, pleaded their cases to his superiors, asked mercy for the troublesome witness she was, the sole survivor. He who, even if other missions awaited him, had stayed by her side long enough for her to put her life back together, and even visited her when his missions led him around these parts.

Tristahn Kelos. The man with amethyst eyes and storm-coloured hair, barely twenty when he had saved her. The one who, in her nightmares, appeared like the avenging angel she thought she saw that night, even though she wasn’t a woman prone to daydreaming.

_What if I wanted to break...?_

Her heart beat faster when she met his one-of-a-kind purple eyes, then her instinctive smile disappeared: he was deathly pale. On his left temple, a flow of blood had pearled from a cut. Even though she hardly knew anything of his job, she guessed how dangerous it was.

“You’re hurt?”

Before marrying the one who would become mayor, she had been a nurse in one of the Lisenthard hospitals. Even today, for any minor illness, she was the one who was called first in the neighbourhood, for her knowledge as well as for her kindness and gentle hands. An authoritarian pout tensed her usually kind features.

“Come in, quick.”

She did not care about his silence, he whom she knew pensive and taciturn. She closed the door and put the latch on before leading him to the kitchen, putting the gun on a small chest of drawers by the doorway. She made him take his coat off, firmly but gently when she saw the reddened fabric. Her dread almost got the better of her when she saw the deep slash running from his left side to his right shoulder. She helped him take off his shirt and made him sit on a chair near the fire, examined his paler-than usual complexion, his strained features, the colour of the mucous membrane under his eyelids to check if he wasn’t lacking blood.

She didn't ask any questions besides the ones regarding his health: if he thought he had other injuries, if he had hit his head, felt nauseous or dizzy. He answered her questions with monosyllables, as he often did, but in a deep and clear voice. She was about to ask what kind of weapon hurt him when she saw the small cuts on his chest, like claw marks, too much like her own scars.

She remembered that the siren had rung earlier, and bit her lip. Damn this city, and all the vampires swarming in its entrails! Lisenthard was nothing but bad luck.

“I’m going to fetch my first-aid kit, stay still...”

Kneeling down, she was about to get up when he grabbed her hand.

“It’s alright, Elora. There’s no rush.”

Dumbfounded, she froze, her grey eyes looking into the young man’s amethyst ones. Still as deep and unfathomable, yet they shone with this slight and gentle tenderness when he put his hand on her cheek.

“Calm down,” he whispered, careful as always.

She didn’t understand his words or the seriousness of his grave face. Then she finally felt her own tears on the corner of her eyes. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Was it the surprise, the joy of seeing him so suddenly? The fear of knowing he was hurt, maybe dying? She took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, he had this shadow of a smile, sad but undeniably tender.

“I’m happy to see you.”

_What if I…_

He leaned forward imperceptibly, as if mindless of how close they were. Tears almost came back to her. Since when had she simply kissed a man? There was only him, his silent presence to remind her that she missed it. The rest of the time, she didn’t care...

She would have liked to only see this man as her saviour, as a friend she could trust. Or like the little brother she never had, he who was almost six years younger than her. But among those close to her, just like Nathan was the only one to spark her motherly instincts, there was only him, a hunter she only met half-a-dozen times, to make her forsaken woman's heart pound.

She sighed, forcing herself to move away. She looked one last time into his amethyst pupils, which she never saw anywhere else.

“So am I, Tristahn.”

She stood up, and he let go of her hand reluctantly. She put the kettle on, then made the compress and everything she needed to disinfect the injuries.

Busy as she was, she couldn't see her host shudder, suddenly under a sharp and fleeting pain. She didn't see either, when he looked up, the violent ruby colour momentarily taking over his pupils. He stood up with even more cat-like grace than usual and approached her silently.

Busy on her healing unguents, she didn't hear him coming and was startled when she felt his callous hands on her shoulders. A soft smile illuminated her face as she noted he still had this habit to move without making a sound. She didn't turn, merely enjoying his touch, his embrace, the strength rolling in his palms.

“Your wound may be serious,” she began, less and less sure of it herself.

“No... I think that I’m alright.”

_What if I…_

She restrained herself from shuddering. Even wounded, he still managed to put her in turmoil with one touch, one whisper. Yet, in many ways, he was a stranger...

_What if I…_

He leaned in, as if taking interest in was she doing. Incidentally, she felt his warm, almost seductive breath err on her cheek. She tried to concentrate: while he was a hunter, he certainly wasn’t immortal. She had to tend to him, quickly…

_What if I…_

As she was about to break free of his embrace, he whispered:

 

“I’m sorry...”

**_…Bury me, bury me._ **

 

[Stop... or Repeat?](https://youtu.be/JjPIOuFtWAI?t=216)

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.

.

Silence surrounded her, deafening after the singer’s exalted words. Any second now, the music would start again, as it repeated itself again and again through the last minutes...or hours?

With one touch, she stopped her phone, and silence settled. She sighed. Docile, the memory faded away, leaving her strangely lighter and more aware of her surroundings. The mattress under her still body, the smell of old varnished wood and leather-bound books.

After a long and deep breath, she opened her eyes in the darkness, gulped hard. Then she jumped out of her bed and sat at her desk, put the light on, grabbed her pen.

It was now. Now, or never.

And, her Ariadne’s thread in mind, Yori began to write again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The original French fanfiction went into hiatus for 8 years, just after this chapter!  
> So, I would like our lovely readers to apreciate how lucky they are to get to read the next chapter shortly, all thanks to our team of writer/translator/beta-reader! So if you liked the story so far, tell us what you think! In the meantime, we'll be working on chapter 8 😀


	13. Chapter Eight: Desperately. - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> After such hectic chapters, it's time to take a breath and some rest next to a warm fire. Like Zero does...

.

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"The wind’s on our side, Sir. In two hours we’ll land in Lisenthard’s closest aerodrom. An unmarked car will wait for you there to allow you to reach the town."

Kaien Kurosu nodded and, leaving the pilot to focus on the itinerary, exited the cockpit to the cabin. He stopped himself from yawning – he had been sound asleep half an hour ago – and settled into one of the few seats before turning to the other passenger.

“Now that we’ve taken off, could I finally have some explanations?”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Yagari opened his eye and glared at his old friend, who was staring at him with attention and disapprobation behind his small glasses. The one-eyed man, grumpier than ever because of the late hour, sighed loudly: while his peculiar co-worker had agreed to get up so early and charter the Association’s private jet without asking any questions, it was obvious he wouldn’t remain quiet for the remainder of the trip. It wasn’t like him.

“An Association Seal’s been broken in Lisenthard,” he said reluctantly.

“And what do you make of it?”

“It’s to do with one of Zero’s old cases. Truth be told, it’s with this one that he began to make a name for himself abroad, through one of his pseudonyms, Tristahn Kelos. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I right?”

The other frowned, as if outraged by such an insinuation – an exaggerated frown, because of his taste for comedy. Yagari looked reproachfully at these theatrics: and to think that this maniac was once one of the most respected hunters of his generation...

“And simply because one seal has been deactivated, you get me out of bed at two in the morning and decide to leave for the Frozen North? Anyone even slightly powerful could have broken a seal. Zero’s more than capable of it, but it’s a meagre trail, Yagari.”

“It’s the only one we have,” concluded the one-eyed man in a peremptory tone.

 _And you know it perfectly as well_ , he stopped himself from saying, too proud and too nervous to play his stupid colleague’s game.

The latter finally quieted, shrugged and kept on looking at the scenery. Behind the window, night shrouded the plane, illuminated by a full, pallid moon. Kaien then sighed, and his eyes became dull and worried as his shoulders slumped. And finally, Yagari could see beyond the facade of the colourful and eccentric character he kept. Even beyond the strange aura – barely perceptible and vaguely ominous – that surrounded all hunters worthy of the name, even retired ones.

This shadow of worry, painful and quite real, belonged to the father character he had played for ten years...and had always been far more than a mere persona.

“I hope you’re right,” Kaien whispered. “Zero is now the only one who knows where Yuuki is.”

.

.

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**_It's not your eyes_ **

**_It's not what you say_ **

**_It's not your laughter_ **

**_That gives you away_ **

**_You're just lonely_ **

**_You've been lonely too long_ **

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** Chapter Eight **

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**_Desperately_ **

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_Lisenthard. Two years ago._

 

“The extraordinary council has deliberated. Please stand up.”

The assembly silently obeyed, while the small door near the stage opened. All eyes turned to the five solemn people who entered the room. One was one-eyed, another limped. The youngest only had four fingers on his right hand and one of his ears was badly messed up, while the older one was disfigured by a wound that looked like it had been sewn up “in the heat of the action”, for better or worse, maybe by his own hand. Under their simple clothes, every one of them probably bore other scars witnessing their dangerous and painful pasts as seasoned hunters.

The five people, three men and two women, got on the stage and faced the scarce assembly, composed exclusively of hunters, of various age and origin. Many Association members had been sent to Lisenthard to help with “cleaning up”, but only a few of them had chosen to stay to know the final decision. A decision that had been heavily debated during this extraordinary meeting, before five of them, chosen for their wisdom, went out to deliberate.

One of the five, a forty-something woman, her hair already greying, stepped forward, her great boots clicking softly on the wooden floor. Proud and impassive in front of the assembly, she didn't need her two silver-sheathed sabres to be impressive: her gaze was enough. And everyone who knew her legend could only admire the presence of this "iron woman", who, unlike her four companions, seemed spared from scars – on the surface only, for she was known to have been through the most horrible torture a gang of aristocrat vampires could muster for an entire week and had emerged out of it sound of mind, something that wasn't given to anyone. Admired and respected for this feat, she was said to be as clever and lucid as she was unpredictable, maybe like the “predators” she had escaped.

On the other side of the room, near a great double door, a young man was waiting, leaning against the wall since the debate started. Arms crossed, imperturbable, he had remained silent through the whole discussion, despite the insistent gaze his kin had given him, as if to entice him to raise his voice and give his opinion. He had only widened his amethyst eyes once, inhabited by a glimmer of hope, when the five judges had come out after a good hour of deliberation.

The written report he had given to the judges the day before had been explicit enough. He had nothing more to say and doubted to be even able to reiterate his opinion out loud without giving away his subjectivity. After all, he was only twenty, and while he had accomplished quite a feat the days before, any slip, any reckless word would do him a disservice. Slightly touchy, like most experienced hunters, the judges may take one "youngster's" flair as ill-placed arrogance...better then to remain quiet, and let silence play its part.

The grey-haired woman looked uncompromisingly on the diverse assembly, then spoke up, her voice neutral but clear-cut.

“After consideration, and according to the arguments presented in your demands and during this meeting, we have made our decision.”

Silence seemed to deepen in the tribunal, heavy with tension.

“The official version of the case will agree with that of the accidental fire already brought up by the media. The underground passages under the town hall shall be sealed and Lisenthard will remain under the Association surveillance.”

Nothing too surprising for now. One of the Association’s core principles – absolute secrecy – was here applied. In the assembly, some held their breath, waiting for the next revelation. The young man by the door remained impassive, but his clenching hands betrayed his feelings.

"As for Elora Dunham, sole survivor along with her four-month-old son, we judged her non-complicit in the traffic and worthy of our trust. Out of respect for her mental health, we won't try to falsify her memories to erase what she knows of the Night World. She will be freed today and given back to her family with all due respects and will have our protection for as long as she wants it. Her late husband's belongings will be seized to pay the debts he left behind. Plus, the Association will commit to paying a life-long pension to the survivor and her son, in exchange for their complete cooperation and their silence on the case. The meeting is adjured."

Everyone visibly relaxed. Some even allowed themselves a slight smile or a knowing look exchanged with one another. They greeted the judges with a nod, a word, before leaving. The case was closed.

The first ones to turn to the exit looked for the young prodigy who had been at the centre of the case, hoping to see him looking satisfied or to give him a silent compliment.

But he who had just distinguished himself under the pseudonym of Tristahn Kelos had already slipped away.

 

 

Outside, the cold was harsh. Under them, the morning fog lingered on Lisenthard. The city was already waking up to the sound of bells and the cries of the gulls. Alone at last, he allowed himself a deep sigh, that turned into a mist past his lips. Blinking, he looked up to the sky, cluttered with grey clouds.

He took a deep breath again, and his shoulders relaxed from the tension he had never stopped feeling ever since he’d set foot in this town. He suddenly realized his past nervousness and was dumbfounded by it. It was as if, after hiding from the others hunters how important the case was for him, he ended up blinding himself...

Someone put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it briefly. Impassive once again, he glanced at the author of this mark of compassion, a middle-aged man whose grey eyes stared right into him. Suddenly, and for a few seconds, his burly face was transformed by a slight smile, full of gratitude, and he nodded, simple gesture worth all the speeches in the world.

“If you ever need my services, you know where to find me, Kelos,” the Butcher whispered. “No matter your name then or your mission, my best weapons will be yours.”

He silently nodded, and the man turned away, disappearing quickly into the fog. Everyone in his profession knew the inestimable worth of this promise. He would have never believed that the former hunter, now one of the most renowned gunsmiths of his time, would be so thankful to him for cleansing his town of the vermin...

Footsteps stopped near him, but he didn’t even glance at the newcomer. He would have known this aura anywhere.

“Congratulations, Zero.”

“Thank you, master.”

A few words, nothing more. Through the years, his mentor and he had ended up agreeing on this rule. A taste for silence and solitude that Touga Yagari had easily instilled in his student, whom the hazards of life had made secretive and taciturn.

True to himself, the one-eyed hunter took a cigarette, lit it nonchalantly and took a few drags, deep in thought, as was his former apprentice. After a few minutes, Zero broke the silence.

“About the survivor... her life will never be the same again. I’d like to stay here a few more days to answer her questions.”

The hand putting the cigarette to the hunter’s lips didn’t slow down for one moment. It was as if nothing happened. Zero took no mind of that and his gaze, like his mentor’s, kept wandering through the fog, observing serenely the few rooftops piercing the damp and icy veil. While the gap in experience between them was considerable, they both knew how to appreciate the few hours following an accomplished mission, like a small break, peaceful and aimless, between the wounds, the past and future kills. Only during those moments, could fighters like them relax – not quite fully – their minds wandering through barely-hinted-at thoughts.

After a few moments, Yagari’s husky voice rose.

"That can be arranged. In the three years you've been working for us, you never asked for any vacation. Take all the time you need, and rest a bit while you're at it, here or elsewhere. I'll send my authorisation to the Council tomorrow when I get back home."

“Thanks.”

After a nod, which Yagari answered with a blink, Zero disappeared into the fog.

 

 

With one look, Zero made clear to the guard that his mission was now over.

“I’ll take it from here.”

The hunter nodded, and made an uncommon gesture, sternly putting his hand to his forehead, index bent, before slipping away without a sound. Zero thought he recognized the sailors’ respectful salute, which revealed a bit about his foreign colleague’s origins. Impassive, his eyes followed the man until he disappeared at the turn of a corner.

Ever since he had cleansed the region of an enormous human trafficking ring, several unknown hunters from all horizons paid to Tristahn Kelos – alias Zero Kiryu – respect that only a few "youngsters" like him could boast of. Taciturn by nature, it was a glory he wasn't likely to be able to fully appreciate.

In the vast world of the hunters, only his most experienced fellow countrymen knew his true nature, and even fewer accepted it with good grace.

He looked at the door again, sighed nervously before knocking gently. No answer. After another fruitless tentative knock, he decided to enter.

The flat requisitioned by the Association looked empty. Knowing it was still very early, he walked stealthily to the bedroom and peered out of the ajar door. In the small cradle brought specially for him, a few-month-old infant was sleeping soundly. His small baby hair, carefully combed the day before, had curled during his sleep, giving him an innocent blonde aura. His closed, quivering eyelids showed that he was dreaming, probably a peaceful dream according to his calm breath. Pastel drapes and a few stuffed animals that were not there the day before had been added to the headboard, by a hand eager to recreate a familiar environment, so important for the peace of mind of children.

Standing near the bed, Zero couldn’t help but smile. Had he doubted for one moment the murderous acts he committed a few nights before, just seeing this child, alive and dreaming peacefully, was enough to know he did well.

He looked at the bed. The covers hadn’t even been touched. He walked to the bathroom, pushed the door open but didn’t enter.

Curled up on the carpet, her knees to her chest and her back against the tub, she immediately looked up to the intruder. Still wearing her nightgown, her long light auburn hair falling on her shoulders, her fingers were clenched on her crossed, freshly-bandaged arms. Despite the miserable sight she thought she must be, she didn’t blink. Had the intruder been anyone else, she already would have given him an icy glare, chased him away with a few well-chosen words. But, before her saviour, she merely scowled, vaguely inquisitive of his presence, before putting her forehead on her bandaged arms again.

Because she did nothing to hide them, Zero easily saw the tear streaks on her cheeks. He expected to hear her sob, but the silence lengthened. Only her hands, clenching her shoulders spasmodically despite her aching wounds betrayed her silent suffering.

Some would have chosen to stay out of this, would have probably left once their message was delivered. Others would have said comforting, false words to ease their conscience. When he had lost everything, he had heard so many empty, meaningless repetitions of “everything will be alright”. Senseless words that only mocked him from above the void into which fate had thrown him. Today, he knew that after such a tragedy, there were no appropriate words, no magic formula. Maybe, just intentions...

Without thinking, he said what was most sincere to him. Words he would find quite strange when he thought about them later.

“You will get through this.”

Elora finally looked up. Without a sound or any gesture, new tears had streamed down her pale cheeks.

“What…?”

Her unkempt hair, the shadows under her eyes caused by exhaustion, anaemia and lack of sleep, her wounded skin almost covered in bandages, everything should have given her a miserable appearance, and yet...there was something about her, in her eyes, in her tense features, that kept anyone from pitying her.

“You will get through this. Don’t doubt it for a minute.”

Elora looked at him indecisively, teary-eyed.

“What do you know about it?”

"Because I see it," Zero whispered. "I saw it before when you were alone in the middle of the flames."

He had seen her as such right away: deathly pale, covered in injuries and blood, and yet ready to try anything to save her and her son’s lives. Ready to face another vampire, the worst of them, the man she had loved and who had betrayed her, ready to offer her body if it meant sparing her child, ready to die if it could appease the monster and save Nathan. When anyone else would have accepted their fate, sure to have done everything they could, letting themselves go, welcoming the dark freedom of unconsciousness, she had stood up to answer her baby’s call, uncovered an unexpected treasure of strength and will to face the terrible blaze waiting to devour both of them.

Like a silent and yet deafening scream. Like a sign in her still but fierce posture, in the worried curl of her lip, biting back her whimpers so as not to wake her child. Only someone like Zero, who had gone through the same thing and survived, could feel and understand it.

Nothing she saw, heard, felt and went through that night could have broken Elora. Yes, she would never be the same again. But she would survive.

“You had a choice that night, Mrs Elora. You could have given up hundreds of times. Yet you fought to the end. And you still will.”

To live. With the weight of memories, but knowing unconsciously she had overcome the cruel fate that tried to bring her down. That she had fought where others wouldn’t have resisted. An absolute certainty she had screamed at the world that night, and that she was still screaming right now, unknowingly, walled up in her silence in the small bathroom of an ordinary hotel.

To live, because she had to, because she wanted to. Because nothing was set in stone. Because she was among those few lucky people who could rebuild themselves. Stumbling, staggering for months, maybe years. But there would come a day when she would be able to look behind her and to realize, haggard, surprised, that this great and terrible thing, that almost destroyed her, was now behind her, harmless. And that it made her stronger than she would ever be otherwise.

She just didn't know it yet. Zero himself sometimes doubted it, when the blackness of his past haunted him some nights. But life carried on the next day, always, and it would carry on for Elora too. She had to climb on the bandwagon or remain on the platform.

But she had already made up her mind...he was sure of it.

“I could have given up...”

She repeated Zero’s words, suddenly dreamy, detached from everything. When her eyes locked with the hunter’s once again, they were filled with bitterness, and yet expectant.

“How can you be so sure? You’re so young...”

Zero didn’t react to this remark, as pertinent as it was. Elora finally lowered her eyes under the scrutiny of his gaze. She looked at nothing, bit her lips pensively.

“I can give up today, or tomorrow. Give up everything. Just like that.”

She said those last few words in a whisper, while other tears ran down silently on her pale cheeks. All the pain of the memories – the one that never goes away – was haunting her words.

“When you decide to let go of everything, you don’t come back to your husband’s house, a few hours after his betrayal, just to get a few toys and blankets. If you haven’t already decided, deep within yourself, that you’re not going to hold on, you don’t stay awake late into the night, after hours of torture, to decorate a sleeping child’s cradle, just for him to not be disoriented when he wakes. And you don’t hide in the bathroom, quieting your sobs to preserve a baby’s sleep, if you’re not going to come out in the morning, ready to take on the day.”

Elora listened silently to what Zero, in the same situation, would have maybe greeted with a sigh, or with anger, he didn’t know. The only thing he was certain that he still saw in her eyes this spark of life, so powerful and fierce it outshined the blaze from the night before.

“No matter how or why, Mrs Elora. You chose to fight back there, and you will carry on fighting here, for you, for your child, to prove to everyone that you can do it and that you won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. To prove to _yourself_ you’re capable of it. And if sometimes the burden is too much to bear, today or even tomorrow, I’ll be there. Ready to support you, to help you as long as you need to put yourself back together.”

Elora stayed silent for a long time, without any visible emotion. Only one sentence passed her injured lips. A question that put Zero off-guard.

“Why are you doing this?”

The hunter blinked.

_“Because someone once did it for me.”_

“...Because it’s my job.”

But Elora seemed to _understand_. She just nodded. Then, slowly, hesitant all of a sudden, she extended her slightly-shaking hand to the hunter.

“Could you…?”

Zero grabbed the fragile hand and, with as much gentleness as he could, he helped her back on her feet. Exhausted, she stumbled a bit, then straightened up and stared at him with her uncommon dove-grey eyes. She took a deep breath, which seemed to give her some confidence. Worthy wife of a mayor, she tried to take a more solemn look.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “Thank you...for...”

But she paused, and Zero saw the tears coming back to crumble this still-too fragile mask of normality. The fierce spark that saved her and her son wouldn’t fix everything, he knew it all too well. To rebuild herself completely, she would need time. A lot of time.

As if thinking about the reasons behind her thanks was enough to open the floodgates of the most horrible memories, she bent over with a shiver, raised her bandaged hands to her face. In a silent whisper, she put her forehead on her saviour’s chest, who, after some hesitation, closed his arms on her frail shoulders.

“Stay with me... at least for today!” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Please…! Please!”

Despite his self-control, Zero felt a lump in his throat. More than ever, he regretted not arriving earlier that night and not being there to stop that orgy before it scarred her for life.

“As long as you need,” he said again.

Nested in her saviour’s arms, Elora burst into tears, too low to wake up the child in the other room, but compulsive and out of control, at times horrified and others almost relieved.

She would have to carry on like this, he thought. In tears, but still standing...

.

 

.

**_All your acting, your thin disguise_ **

**_All your perfectly delivered lines_ **

**_They don't fool me_ **

**_You've been lonely too long_ **

.

.

.

.

 

“Why her, Zero-kun?”

Yori batted her eyelashes, and the memory vanished. She took a deep and slow breath then shuddered, before readjusting the blanket on her shoulders. She looked up to a dormer granting a gentle light on her refuge lined with shelves and ancient books. Outside, the day was breaking, and it was raining; discreet but omnipresent music.

She was about to close the file but stopped, taking the time to study in detail the only photo in the Association's meagre file. Looking exhausted but wary, the young blond curly-haired woman was staring at the objective sternly. In her bandaged arms, she was holding close to her a few-months-old infant.

Elora Dunhahm, and her son Nathan. The only survivors of the network Zero tore down in Lisenthard, two years before Yuuki’s return.

“You had so many victims to save, witnesses to protect... why was she special?” Yori whispered.

At first, there was no answer. Then, slowly, memories emerged from the enormous collection of them she had received. Images, sounds, sensations filled her senses, tinted with bitterness. Yori swallowed hard, as the storm of foreign, complex and contradictory emotions filled her. Tenderness, fear. Remorse.

Elora. In a way, Zero had liked her... maybe even loved her. But, that fateful night of the massacre, to help Yuuki, Zero had had to make a choice.

And to survive, he had betrayed Elora.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“I’m sorry...”

Warm and soft, Tristahn Kelos’ breath on her neck made Elora shiver. She had a small smile as he tightened his grip on her shoulders. Strangely, it was only in his presence that she felt perfectly safe, protected. Serene.

“Sorry about what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He then loosened his grip.

“...Coming so suddenly. I wish I could have let you know beforehand.”

She sighed, amused, and turned to face him. Their gazes met, and as always, she couldn't decipher what those amethysts eyes were hiding. That man was a mystery and yet, each of his short visits gave her happiness she couldn't explain, and she enjoyed it as much as she could.

“You _always_ arrive without warning, Tristahn. Since the beginning. That’s fate, that’s how it is. And I’m fine with it.”

She hesitated a bit, then, with gentle firmness, she pushed him back toward the fireplace.

“Sit down, we have to clean your wound. And, once again, stop acting so polite. I’m not that old.”

Silent once more, as was usual for him, Tristahn obeyed without protest. She went back to her unguents after a small breath, to pull her mind together. The most worrying wound, a deep slash from his left side to the right shoulder called for immediate stitches to stop the bleeding. She chose her tools carefully, cleaned them at length with alcohol and fire, then came back to Tristahn who, sitting next to the fire, seemed lost in thoughts. Without unnecessary words, she cleaned and disinfected the wound carefully. As she was about to begin her stitches, she hesitated.

“I have laudanum if you want...”

“No. It’s fine.”

Unsurprised, she picked her needle. She had already known the answer to her question before asking it: the few times Tristahn had come in her house injured, he had always refused any anaesthetic.

She focused on the wound again, a bit surprised to find it less deep than she initially believed.

“I thought that... but no, the muscles are barely affected. You’ll heal soon.”

Tristahn only nodded slightly, and, with a deft hand, she started her work. Minutes passed in perfect silence, barely broken by a few low-voiced apologies when the needle made the hunter wince. The firelight, left unattended, was starting to dim when Elora cut the last thread.

“Here... it’s done.”

She examined the stitches a bit more, looking for possible bleeding, then dressed the wound carefully.

“It should be fully healed in about ten days. Since they’re in your back, you’ll have to have them taken out by someone competent.”

“Thank you,” the man whispered in a faint voice.

Once the wound dressing was done, she took care of the coagulated cut on his temple, which had bled considerably, as all head wounds tended to do. She disinfected it at length, noticed with some surprise that it didn’t need any stitch, then cleaned his tattooed neck and his red-covered shoulder, looking for another injury. She disinfected the numerous claw marks on his chest but said nothing, knowing quite well where they came from.

After all, she had been covered in such _scars_ for about two years...

Since the clothes he wore when he arrived were torn and covered in blood, she brought him some of her husband’s old clothes, ones she hadn’t had to sell yet. While he slowly dressed, she went back to her burner and with authority gave him a bowl of the soup that had been simmering since yesterday – she had realized during one of the hunter’s visits that vegetable soup was one of his favourite dishes.

Finally, she knelt by the hearth to rekindle the dying fire. Quickly the flames crinkled, fed by a new log, and she put her hands toward them, suddenly realizing how cold she was. Not far from her, Bear the dog sighed with contentment in his sleep, and Elora glanced at him with amusement before going back to Tristahn.

Sitting on the only armchair, the hunter savoured his soup slowly, staring into space. Elora noticed that he had changed again since his last visit, a few months ago: his once lanky silhouette – he had been twenty years old when they first met – had broadened with each passing year, more muscular. His lean face, now free from the last traces of baby fat, seemed emaciated, almost bony in the flickering light. She noted with worry that he looked especially tired: his unusually pale complexion contrasted with deep shadows under his eyes. Only his amethyst irises remained the same, often clear and inscrutable, sometimes haggard and weary of all the horrors he had to face.

Somewhere in the street, a roaring motorcycle sound rose, along with shouting indistinct voices. The rumble, distant but alarming, disappeared almost immediately, as if muffled by the dark of the night. Elora shivered with apprehension.

“Will you have to go back…?”

Inside, she prayed that it wouldn't be the case. Tristahn's wound, barely stitched up, needed rest to heal, and even if he hid his exhaustion brilliantly, she could see his hands occasionally shaking. Unfortunately, she had seen him go back to a mission in such a worrying state before now.

Tristahn took another sip of the soup, then shook his head, to his host’s great relief.

“The threat is contained for tonight.”

“What about the Militia?”

“I’m here for a non-official mission, I can’t contact them. But they’ll soon see by themselves that the problem’s solved.”

Elora nodded. The hunter – like her butcher uncle – had never shown much admiration for the Anti-vampire Militia and its watchful efforts. She didn't have very high esteem for these vigilantes herself, knowing that their ranks were filled with as many agitators and petty criminals as concerned citizens. Power and danger drew in unstable personalities and daredevils. It, unfortunately, wasn't new...

“Do you want something to eat? There’s some stew left...”

“It’s fine, Elora, I’m not very hungry. How’s Nathan?”

The woman’s small smile broadened.

“He’s growing up, and changes so fast...you’ll be surprised when you see him. He was still so small last time you visited...”

The siren ran again in Lisenthard’s streets, deafening. Speechless, Elora looked instinctively at the ceiling, biting her lips until the alarm stopped. Without realizing it, she put her hand on her forearm and scratched nervously the _scars_ her wide sleeves revealed.

At this sight, the until-then impassive hunter’s face darkened, and he lowered his head. Outside, the siren screamed for one long minute, then silence came back, almost crushing.

“And... your injuries?”

Elora's eyes questioned the hunter, then noticed her fingers which, as always when she was nervous, lingered on the scars on her arms. Embarrassed, she first tried to tug the sleeve on her wrist to hide the numerous pale pink marks that striated her skin, but thought otherwise. Two years ago, Tristahn saw them more than his share and even helped to dress and heal the worst of them.

"It's been a while since they've been painful. Except for some nights. And if I use an anti-vampire weapon, it almost feels like they're going to open again. As if _they_ were still there, looming over me, doing...those things.”

Elora flinched at these words, and she quieted again, walled up in her memories.

“I’m sorry,” whispered the hunter sincerely. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Elora had a gentle smile. She crossed her hands on her lap and watched pensively the flickering light of the flames on her scarred forearms.

“No, please. After all, you’re the only one who can see them. For everyone else, I’ve been so gravely burnt in the fire that my skin is too disfigured to be seen. Who knows, I might have preferred it,” she whispered with a bitter chuckle.

As often, Tristahn didn’t answer, but his amethyst eyes shimmered. After a long silence neither one of them seemed eager to break, the hunter shook his head.

“I made a mistake coming here. I better leave.”

Caught off-guard, Elora looked at him with surprise.

“What are you saying? You can’t go out like that!”

As she feared, he had barely left his armchair before he had to bite back a pained moan, probably caused by his injury. Back at his side, Elora forced him to sit back with a firm hand, and he stayed curled up a few moments, elbows on his knees and forehead against his clenched fists, trying to control his ragged breath.

“You told me it was over. Can’t you rest just for one night?”

To her dismay, Tristahn avoided her gaze, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed.

“I don’t think coming here was a good idea,” he whispered regretfully.

Elora frowned, taken aback.

“What do you mean? You know you’re always welcome here.”

The hunter seemed to hesitate for a long time. Though she didn’t expect any answer from him, he finally whispered, looking down.

“Every time I come, we end up talking about that day. I don’t think you want to relive it again. Since the beginning, you’ve been moving forward.”

He clenched his fists to restrain another burst of tremors. She pursed her lips, both anxious and troubled by this weakness he couldn’t hide anymore. She hesitated for a few seconds about what to do with him, whom she knew to be sometimes irritable, always secretive. Then she knelt before him, unclenched his fists with a stroke and looked for his gaze.

“You saved us that day, my son and I. Our life hasn’t been the same since, that’s true. But you never let us down.”

He saved them from the fire and the dark vampire orgy. He pleaded in Elora’s favour before the Association Extraordinary Council, vouched for her silence. Once the young woman’s wounds had healed, he orchestrated her return to civilian life himself, discreetly, so that she wouldn’t be bothered by revenge-hungry vampires or Hunters reticent to let a witness go unsupervised. He had been this silent but precious anchor that helped her to keep her feet on the ground.

For this, she would be eternally grateful.

“Believe me, when I see you, Tristahn, it’s not the bad memories that come to me. On the contrary.”

As he stubbornly kept his eyes down, she took his face in the palm of her hand and pulled his chin up, gazing into his amethyst pupils, that gleamed feverishly. He blinked once more and gently pulled away from her touch. With a wheezing breath, he silently nodded, as if taking in Elora’s confession. His forehead was dampened with sweat. Putting aside her usual tactfulness, she asked the question that was burning her lips:

“What’s happening to you?”

“It’s nothing,” he whispered in a hurry. “I’m fine.”

“No, Tristahn, you’re not fine. Do you have other injuries?”

“I’m just tired. It’ll pass.”

He glanced at her with both wariness and concern, nailing her in place. Painfully, she started to fear the worst.

“Tristahn... What is it that you’re not telling me?”

Seeing him flinch, she guessed that she was right. He stood up suddenly, almost jostling her, and stepped away.

“Tristahn, what’s going on?”

Without a word, he took his shoulder holster and strapped it on his left side. Filled with a bad feeling, Elora stood up but remained silent as he stubbornly turned his back on her. Once the holster was in place, the hunter froze, his hand on the silver weapon called Bloody Rose, an anti-vampire gun far more powerful than Elora’s ordinary revolver, which she had left near the door.

The young man's shoulders relaxed slowly. He got his breathing under control, and his fists unclenched. He was about to grab his sabre and coat, then hesitated, and finally stopped preparing his departure. She never saw him hesitate so much.

“Tristahn...tell me.”

There was a long silence. The hunter sighed as if resigned. After one last hesitation, he faced her again and, in his eyes, Elora saw that he had just made a decision. A _horribly_ costly one.

“I had to face an unexpected threat,” he whispered hoarsely. “I won’t be able to heal as easily as the other times. And I will need...your help.”

With these words, he lowered his head, unable to look at her in the face. While, since his arrival, she had found him strangely older due to exhaustion and nervousness, he suddenly appeared younger and more vulnerable than ever.

Both worried and moved, she walked to him, but, confused by his behaviour, both distant and distraught, she didn’t dare touch him.

“You know you can stay here as long as you want,” she said. “I will never thank you enough for what you did for us. So tell me how to help you, please. You look exhausted...”

She didn’t understand this weakness oozing out of him, and if she hadn’t already examined him carefully, she would have thought he was gravely injured. But it was something else, more insidious...more worrying, too. Was he ill? He who she always saw as a force of nature, him being sick would really alarm her.

She saw him swallow with difficulty, searching for his words.

“...First, you have to know something. About the Association, about me.”

“To know what?”

He closed his eyes once more, and shuddered, as if under a pain as short as it was sharp.

“...Mommy?”

She jumped, startled, brought back to reality by the small voice coming from the other side of the room. She turned, and, past her initial surprise, smiled tenderly at the child looking at them with circumspection.

“Nathan! Dear...did the siren wake you up?”

The small boy nodded gravely, rubbing his eyes, and tiptoed when his mother took him in her arms. She kissed him on the neck and whispered reassuring words in his ear, then followed the child’s eyes, riveted on Tristahn.

“We have a visitor. Do you recognize him?”

She slowly approached the hunter, watching for a reaction on her son’s serious face. After a few moments, Nathan’s puzzled pout lightened.

“Kelo,” he enunciated with a sleepy smile.

Out of “Tristahn Kelos”, quite hard to pronounce, the little boy had ended up naming the hunter with a simplified “Kelo”. As always when he heard the surname, the young man smiled softly, and grabbed briefly the small extended hand, barely bigger than his palm.

“I’ll put him back to bed”, Elora whispered while Nathan closed his eyes with satisfaction, his head on her shoulder. “I’ll be only a few minutes.”

Tristahn simply nodded, his gaze elusive once more. While he turned away, Elora grabbed his shoulder gently.

“Hey. Don’t go, please. Let me help you.”

She had to settle for silence, not even a glance. Hurriedly, she went to the bedroom, her old dog following her.

.

.

**_Let me in the walls_ **

**_You've built around_ **

**_We can light a match_ **

**_And burn them down_ **

**_Let me hold your hand_ **

**_And dance 'round and 'round the flames_ **

**_In front of us_ **

**_Dust to dust_ **

.

.

.

.

The door closed behind them, and Zero stared at it for several long seconds, as if weighing up the pros and cons. When another quiver went through him, he made no effort to hide it, and briefly, his eyes were tinted with a cruel and shameful red. He glanced at his bag and his sabre, seemingly inviting him to go; then the siren rang a third time outside as if to remind him he had no other way out.

With exhaustion and resignation, he went back to sit in front of the hearth, his shoulders tensed, his face damp with sweat. A wave of pain, more violent than the others, made him moan.

Yuuki's thirst was slowly making him lose control, and the entire town was in alert after her slaughter. In these conditions, he couldn't hunt without risking being noticed by the Militia. And seeing the state he was in if he was caught, the militiamen would opt for a quick execution...Try as he might, Zero couldn't find another solution: finding a trusted person, explaining the situation carefully. And hoping she would agree to such a sacrifice.

But why did have to happen in Lisenthard? A few steps away from Elora’s place? If he revealed his true nature to her, she who hated vampires like nobody else, he would put before her  a terrible dilemma...

Cornered, without a choice in the matter, Zero almost felt nauseous. He grunted to himself.

“Yuuki, only you could make me do something like this. Only for that...”

He closed his eyes and leaned on the armchair. When another wave of vertigo took him, he gave in to it, choosing unconsciousness rather than the throbbing pain caused by the thirst.

“...I wish I could hate you...”

.

.

**_You've held your head up_ **

**_You've fought the fight_ **

**_You bear the scars_ **

**_You've done your time_ **

**_Listen to me_ **

**_You've been lonely too long_ **

.

.

.

.

“Zero!”

Alone in the darkness, lying on the dirty ground, Yuuki was weeping silently, half-conscious. Thirst was torturing her relentlessly.

_“You’ll stay here until you’re in control again...that’s an order.”_

“Zero…!”

It had been long since she broke her voice calling for him, begging, threatening, insulting him. _Him_. Her liegeman, who even as such had just given her an irresistible, merciless order. A small defenceless thing devoid of her free will, she was condemned to stay here until her thirst calmed down. “The other Yuuki”, the one embodying all her desires for violence and blood had finally disappeared, muzzled by the injunction. There was only survival instinct, basic, hammering into her that she couldn’t survive like this indefinitely. But it wasn’t enough to break the chain bonding her.

“Kaname...where are you…? Zero...”

Exhausted, famished, in delirium, she fell back into a stormy torpor. In a corner of her tortured consciousness, the _bond_ was vibrating, solid, inalterable. The only thing keeping her sane, keeping her from falling definitely into madness.

And when Zero dozed, she had no other choice than to fall herself into a deep slumber, filled with memories and dreams. She whispered, terrified.

“Don’t leave me behind...not you, too.”

 

.

.

.

**_You've been lonely_ **

**_You've been lonely too long_ **

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

**_We've been lonely_ **

**_We've been lonely too long_ **

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_Desperately – Part One_

_…To be Continued…_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you supported an author today? If not, consider commenting! It always makes our day 🙂  
> See you next week for the follow-up of Elora's story, and Zero's dilemma...


	14. Chapter Eight: Desperately. - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Last week, we reached the 100 000 words milestone! And we're only halfway through...  
> If you're still here, please continue following us as we gleefully ignore canon/anything that happened past chapter 47! (VKM included!)
> 
> Lyrics: "Dust to Dust" - The Civil Wars  
> https://youtu.be/YhatytEAJh4

_Desperately - Part Two_

 

 

 

_Another time, another place..._

.

.

“Thanks for coming here, Kelos. Just to bring me some raw materials and one order form. It’s a thankless job, even for a young officer like you...”

“I had some business in the area. And at least I could get supplies from a specialist. Thanks for the ammunition.”

“Bah, it’s basic stuff. And you pay well and on time. Yet, I don’t need to remind you that I owe you a favour, Kelos. You sure you don’t want some more...exotic material? I’m not that young anymore, but rest assured that my work is still flawless. And the metal I use comes right from the Founder’s Forge.”

“I’m sure of it, Butcher. I’ll keep your offer in mind, for the day when I need more powerful firepower.”

“I guess it’ll happen someday when your talent won’t be enough, kid. When that day comes, I hope you’ll be around...and that I won’t be senile yet.”

The two men exchanged a knowing look and a firm handshake. Then the youngest put his bag on his shoulder and left the Butcher’s shop without looking back.

In Lisenthard, snow had begun to fall, marking the end of autumn, often short-lived in these Northern parts. He took the time to put his hood back over his grey hair, then he swiftly crossed the town centre toward the train station, his mind already on his next mission: two Level-E were wreaking havoc a hundred kilometres North, in some mountain villages, almost threatening the Night World secret. Those were the kind of investigations – hunts – that had become his lot ever since he chose to work abroad. Travels and never-ending unfamiliar scenery suited him; he who, a few years ago, had felt the intense need to break all ties and get a change of atmosphere.

“Kelos? Tristahn Kelos?”

He stopped dead in his tracks hearing that name, the one under which he had been known in Lisenthard, since his last mission here. A lump in his throat, his senses on alert, he turned toward the familiar voice. A blond long-haired young woman with dove-grey eyes was staring at him, dumbfounded. It took him some time to recognize her.

“Mrs...Elora?”

She seemed relieved by his answer and walked to him.

“I wasn’t sure it was really you...I’m so glad to see you again! I thought you’d gone back to your home country!”

“I’m only passing through. I’m leaving on a mission tonight. How are you?”

She smiled broadly at his polite question. As they exchanged a few banalities, he studied, out of habit, her gestures and appearance: her pale and bony face had regained some colour since their last encounter, a sign that she had gotten better since the town hall _fire_. Her movements were filled with a new-found assurance, though every inch of her skin but her head was carefully covered. Probably because of her old wounds; too visible, he thought bitterly. She had sworn before the Association to keep the secret of vampires and hunters, and her uncommon scars were hardly explainable without alluding to the Night World.

A train whistle in the distance pulled him out of his thoughts. As if sensing his trouble, she stepped back and made a goodbye gesture with her gloved hand.

“I don’t want to make you late. But come visit us sometimes, Kelos. You will see how Nathan’s grown up.”

He nodded his thanks, dared a polite smile.

“I will. Thank you for the invitation,” he whispered in a neutral tone.

Unsure how to take his leave, he nodded again and stepped away a bit. She called again, more hesitant.

“Kelos?”

He looked at her puzzlingly over his shoulder. Her smile was smaller, yet softer. Her eyes became sad and resigned.

“It’s good to see you again. Good luck. And take care.”

Without expecting an answer, almost reluctantly, she left in the opposite direction, disappearing at a crossroad. Mindless of the snow falling harder and harder, the hunter stood still for a few seconds, staring at the corner of the street where she had disappeared. Then, with a sigh, he went back on his way, on his mind a smile and a few simple words, still lingering...

“ _Take care...”_

.

.

_**Let me in the walls** _

_**You've built around** _

.

.

_**We can light a match** _

_**And burn them down** _

.

.

.

Snow-covered, now-familiar streets. A whitewashed facade, a door that was unremarkable but for the engraving of a dove and a cross. Her symbol as a healer, her signature of sorts.

After one last hesitation, he used the door-knocker. The door opened after a few seconds. The young woman froze when she saw him, and her polite smile disappeared.

“...Kelos?”

At first, he didn't know what to do, but he finally settled for just a nod, unsure if her invitation from weeks ago had truly been sincere. As if to appease his doubts, she smiled right away, gesturing for him to enter.

“Thank you for coming. Please, come inside...”

He obeyed as he followed her. The warmth of a chimney fire greeted him, a striking contrast with the icy and biting wind blowing on the streets outside. In the modest living room that doubled as a kitchen, a boy, barely one-year-old, was playing near the hearth, under the calm but watchful eye of the big dog lying nearby.

At the sound of the closing door, the child looked up to the hunter and stared at him. Then a candid smile spread on his lips, and he babbled joyfully but indistinctively before going back to the serious study of one of the wooden cubes scattered on the floor.

With a slight surprise, the hunter finally measured up how much time had passed: when, called on other missions, he had left Elora and Lisenthard behind, Nathan was only an infant, unable to even stand upright.

“Can I take your coat?”

Pulled out of his thoughts, he nodded and put down his bag, mechanically took off his winter coat, which Elora hung near the entrance.

“Thank you for the invitation. And sorry to come unannounced. I wish I could have warned you, but I had no way to contact you before I arrived in Lisenthard...”

The young woman shook her head.

“That’s what I realized after seeing you the other day; you only knew my address. Don’t worry about it. You’ll stay for lunch, won’t you?”

The question, that wasn’t really one, took him off-guard, and, out of politeness, he almost refused. Elora stopped him with a gaze both welcoming and inquiring.

“We would like it very much. Not as many people come to see us as you may think. Would you like some mulled wine?”

After a short silence, the hunter nodded. As she checked her cooking on her stove, he sat near the hearth at her invitation. Surreptitiously, he scowled himself for being so untalkative. But then, he faced the fact: his job as a hunter, consisting of travels to remote locations, condemned him to a solitude he didn’t mind, but as such it was not unusual for him to spend entire days without talking to anyone. He wasn’t talkative by nature, but he would never have thought that holding a conversation, even a simple one, would be this hard after weeks of silence.

Not far from him, Nathan had frozen again at the hunter’s approach; he more than likely had no memory of him. He glanced frequently at the kitchen where his mother was busy, then, after some reflection, the toddler left his toys and, with after a bit of balancing, got on all fours to approach the young man. Reaching the armchair, he seemed to assess the situation, before clinging on to the worn-out leather of the armrest and, with some difficulty, using it to stand up. A bit unsteady but finally standing, he looked down at his world with new eyes, looking like a satisfied conqueror. Amused by this, the hunter faintly smiled.

The child’s attention was drawn back to him, and the hunter was surprised by the sharpness of his grey eyes, both candid and piercing. Silently, Nathan seemed to gauge him, then, with the same concentration he had used to stand up, he tried to climb onto the armrest, to no avail this time, his weak limbs shaking under his weight. Starting to feel impatient, the hunter felt like he had to intervene, and, out of solutions, grabbed the child to put him on his knee. The toddler instantly calmed down, and, with a satisfied sigh, looked at the room from his new point of view.

“Well! He’s not that sociable, usually,” Elora exclaimed coming back to the hearth, two glasses in her hands. “As far as I know, he’s only this familiar with my uncle. Here, Kelos.”

He took the glass with a whispered “thanks” and she sat in front of the fire. With a seasoned gesture, she rekindled the embers, added another log. A few minutes later, the fire was crinkling anew. In the firelight, the Bloody Rose in the hunter’s shoulder holster seemed to blaze, and his owner realized he hadn’t even thought about taking it off. He wondered: since when had carrying his weapon become so natural?

Suddenly captivated by the silver shining of the weapon, Nathan extended a small hand in its direction, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. Elora’s calm smile vanished and she looked down, silent. Facing the unpleasant image of the child examining the inscriptions engraved on the Bloody Rose with interest, the hunter suddenly understood the uneasiness of the civilians who glimpsed the holster usually hidden under his coat.

Wordlessly, he unfastened the harness of his holster, and put it down, along with the gun, out of sight. The child frowned and raised his chin to try to find the object of his curiosity, in vain.

The hunter took a sip of mulled wine, trying to forget the unpleasant feeling that he was naked without his faithful Bloody Rose. After ten days hunting in the remote Northern regions, the absence of the gun against his side left him with a painful feeling of vulnerability. It had been three years already since he left school to work full-time for the Association: this thing that was as much a job as it was art had imprinted within him. Was it still possible for him to live among common people? Sometimes, he doubted it.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized to Elora.

The young woman shook her head regretfully, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

“No, Kelos, you don’t have to justify yourself. It’s...it’s what you are. And I would be the last one to blame you for it.”

Unable to find the Bloody Rose and its shiny reflections, Nathan’s interest had set for the metallic piercings on the hunter’s ears. He extended his hand, so much that he would have fallen if the hunter hadn’t held him just in time. He chose to put the laughing toddler down, and the child went to cuddle against his mother, who welcomed him with open arms, amused.

As she stroked the child’s blond head, the hunter noticed that she had taken her gloves off, revealing the small scars on her hands. She caught the young man’s eyes on her old wounds. Embarrassed, the tugged at her sleeves to try and hide them.

“They’re still quite visible, but...they hurt less now. The unguent you left me works wonders. Thank you again.”

The hunter just nodded. Elora's wound had been caused in majority by the fangs of her torturers: through their saliva, some had instilled a rare venom in her wounds, known to cause a perpetual pain if the victim was to survive. This scourge was well-known to the hunters, as well as its remedy, a rare and expensive unguent. Yet he never hesitated in giving his personal reserve to Elora.

“I could bring you more next time I’m passing through Lisenthard, Elora. Well, if you want me to.”

He still thought she had invited him out of pure politeness and gratitude. He knew his hunter persona reminded her of painful memories, which she would rather forget. Yet, when she looked up, he saw nothing but sincere joy. A very gentle smile brightened her juvenile features.

“You’ll always be welcome here, Kelos. Always. So, if you want to, when you’re in town...”

“ _Come visit us again...”_

.

.

.

 

 

 

 

_**Let me hold your hand** _

_**And dance 'round and 'round the flames** _

 

_**** _

 

_**In front of us** _

 

_**Dust to dust** _

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Night had fallen long ago. Basked in her desk-light, Yori was frantically writing pages and pages of memories, out of order, in a small notebook she instinctively kept for this very use.

Even when she had tried to write it down the first time, she never went this far into Zero’s memory. She couldn’t even imagine Elora’s importance to the hunter. She felt both surprised and disappointed to know so little about someone who was once a precious friend. And to think that, even now that he was gone, he still managed to hide entire aspects of his life...

Yori closed the memories with an arabesque ending the paragraph, turned the page and carried on her story with the same pressed-down writing, more masculine than usual, both quick and precise. Full of bittersweet joy, she smiled wanly.

In the two years following the town hall case, Zero’s visits to Lisenthard had succeeded. They were often weeks apart, through the missions the hunter honoured across the continent. And yet, each time he met with Elora, it was as if he had only left yesterday.

As his missions were unpredictable, Zero rarely had the opportunity to warn the young woman of his arrival beforehand. It didn’t seem to bother her, and she always welcomed him with joy, for a meal or a few hours spent strolling with Nathan in Lisenthard’s lively streets, or on the docks.

He sometimes visited her when he was injured, coming back from a mission. His natural detachment and resistance to pain weren’t enough to fool Elora’s instincts. As a watchful and discerning healer, she proved herself remarkably stubborn and skilled when it came to nursing a reluctant patient. Faced with her will to examine and dress each one of his injuries, the hunter had to put his pride and independence aside, and finally just let her do it. It was harder than ever for him to lower his guard since he had become a hunter, and he usually preferred to heal by himself rather than go see a doctor.

But with Elora, everything was simpler, more natural. Maybe because she had a vague idea of what his job was like. Maybe because their relationship, episodic and purely friendly didn’t leave room for any future.

Yori wrote down these meetings, so simple and yet so dear to Zero’s heart. As time passed, these few stolen moments had become – between his missions – breaks of serenity, tranquillity. After arresting vampires forgetful of the Night Law, or between two Level E executions, the prospect of visiting Lisenthard had become an almost salutary comfort. It ended up pacing his wanderings. It gave back meaning to his existence, until then solely devoted to the hunt and the art of being a Hunter.

With this woman who, like him, seemed to be living day by day, out of time, Zero felt something he hadn’t felt in years. It was so soft, fragile and precious that he couldn’t think of enjoying it other than in small doses, with the insidious fear of destroying everything if he tasted it too often.

To know that someone was waiting for him. To talk with somebody, for a few hours, who was unaware of his vampire nature, and who knew so little about the violent acts he committed out of conviction, about the horror he himself embodied. Elora was the only one who never tried to learn more.

It was a bit like when Yuuki still ignored the truth about him. And once more, Zero would have given everything to preserve this innocence...

Feverish, Yori stopped a brief moment, suddenly filled with an irrational fear: that such a situation couldn’t – and didn’t – last forever. The certitude that stopping her story there could maintain the illusion of peace.

Without noticing, she turned the page. And her pen started to move again, a bit more hesitant. The writing became rounder, more feminine, while the memory unfurled in her mind, bittersweet. Surprised when she recognized this new memory’s owner – Elora – Yori had no choice but to carry on writing, tears in her eyes but her hand steady.

.

.

.

_**You're like a mirror** _

_**Reflecting me** _

.

.

_**Takes one to know one,** _

_**So take it from me** _

.

.

.

_**You've been lonely** _

_**You've been lonely too long** _

.

.

.

.

The siren rang outside, announcing the beginning of curfew. Elora closed the curtains on the black night and hugged herself with a shiver.

“Fucking alarm. As if the people weren’t already on edge….”

Putting on his coat, Kelos looked at her sympathetically. When she opened her grey eyes again, they were shining with contained tears.

“I’m not the only one living in fear anymore, wary of every stranger I see in the street. I don’t think it’s a good thing. Nobody trusts anyone now.”

The hunter nodded with a sigh.

“Terror can be devastating when it strikes entire populations. My superiors’ biggest fear was that the human world would learn about vampires brutally... Well, what’s done is done.”

He put the Bloody Rose back in his shoulder holster, after checking if it was correctly loaded and armed. Elora admired him: she had been handling her own anti-vampire revolver for several years now, and she doubted she would ever have a quarter of his assertiveness. Even if it could save her life, it was still a machine of death...

“You must be overworked, Kelos.”

“Not that much, actually. They ordered me to stay low, waiting for things to subside. I just clean things up when a Level E appears.”

As he put his bag on his shoulder, she felt a lump in her throat.

“Where are you going this time?” she whispered, trying to hide her distress.

“My train leaves tomorrow at dawn, I’m going back to my country. Our superiors are putting together a crisis meeting to settle our line of conduct. Don’t worry,” he added, sensing that she was upset. “I will make sure that your situation doesn’t suffer from the current events, and that our agents will keep on protecting your identity.”

Elora eyes’ shimmered: he was alluding to her situation as a “protected witness”. She knew far too much about the vampire population in Lisenthard for the Hunter Association’s liking. Backing on his reputation following the town hall incident, Kelos had used his influence to unfurl protective measures around Elora, sparing her a precautionary exile, or something worse.

When, exceptionally, a human survived their – bloody – encounter with a vampire, it wasn’t uncommon for some Association divisions to rearrange their memories. But the more traumatizing the experience, the more dangerous erasing it became for the subject’s mental health. Kelos had refused to use such means on Elora, and for his honest explanations as well as his implication in the case, she would always be grateful.

“Thank you”, she whispered sincerely. “But I’m worried about you, Tristahn Kelos. Be careful, please...”

They hesitated, then briefly hugged.

“I promise, Mrs Elora.”

The strident curfew alarm rang again, startling Elora. As an answer, the hunter tightened his embrace and the young woman, surprised then relieved, closed her eyes and did the same. They remained like this a long time, which neither of them could measure.

The alarm finally stopped. The fire was starting to die in the hearth, and the room was slowly darkening.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered. “For each of your visits, thank you so much. With you, I feel safer. At peace. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. It’s priceless...and I’m sorry I can’t do the same for you.”

She pulled away from him reluctantly. The hunter had a faint polite smile.

“You will never have to thank me for this, Mrs Elora.”

“Tristahn Kelos...we’ve known each other for so long, maybe we could stop being so formal toward one another?”

The hunter seemed surprised by such an unexpected request. In the dying light of the hearth, Elora waited for his answer patiently.

“I suppose, yes...”

Elora nodded, deep in thought. She suddenly leaned toward him, and gently kissed him.

“Stay here,” she whispered against his lips. “Just for tonight.”

She waited for an answer: acceptance or refusal? But the hunter didn’t react, staring, seemingly waiting for an explanation. She tried not to blink under his stare, and, running her hand through his grey hair, her lips brushed his once more. She finally saw him close his eyes and did the same. She felt him relax, respond to her embrace. She heard him dropping his travel bag, falling at their feet with a dull sound. Her already pounding heart beat even faster when he put his masculine hands on her hips, his chest pressed against hers. Their breaths quickened as their kiss deepened, became more demanding. Feverish, she who hadn't let herself be approached by a man since her ordeal, gave herself into a whirl of feelings and delightful sensations, which she never thought she would feel again. Her emotion was so great that it brought tears to her eyes.

And, against all expectations, the hands on her hips became firm and pushed her away, breaking their kiss. She bit back a frustrated moan and didn't lose her grip on his shoulder, her breath short.

When she found the courage to open her eyes again, he was looking at her in silence. His amethyst eyes were gleaming with bitterness and regret, but also, undeniably, with desire.

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to thank me.”

She swallowed hard and blinked, trying to put her mind back together. He was alluding to her own disgust and anxiousness, that she always felt when she had to show only one inch of her bruised body. He who had seen her injuries several times, and who even gave her advice to cure the deepest ones, knew it perfectly.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” he whispered huskily.

“I’m not forcing myself, Tristahn,” she heard herself whisper vehemently. “Not with you. I just want to...stop pretending to be strong, stop being reasonable. Just one night. Just with you.”

In the dark room, her muffled voice sounded like a tender plea. He shook his head.

“I can’t. Elora...”

She felt a lump in her throat as she asked the inevitable question:

“Because you have someone else?”

Leaning against one another, their foreheads almost touching, she tried to catch his eyes, which he kept lowered. He frowned, then blinked, resigned.

“No...”

“ _Not anymore,”_ this weary tone seemed to imply. This answer, both short and ambiguous could have reassured her, but only awoke another question, even more pressing.

“So it’s me? Or my...scars?”

Her whisper died in a trembling voice, and, alarmed, he finally looked up. Convinced that her appearance disgusted him as it disgusted her, she looked in his eyes for contempt, or worse, pity. But the hunter’s pupils, still filled with desire, remained clear and unfaltering.

“No.”

Without knowing how, she knew he was sincere. She took a deep breath, expectant, but he remained silent. Within him, desire seemed to struggle with a concealed dread.

“So why hesitate?”

The man flinched. She was surprised by the look of his empty-looking, absent amethyst eyes. He finally said a strange sentence, as his voice became distant:

“You know too little about me, Elora.”

“You’re the one without whom I never would have survived, against the vampires or the Association. That’s who you are. And that’s good enough for me...”

The hunter seemed to hesitate; then he put his hands on hers, that she kept wrapped around his neck in a futile effort to make him stay. Gently, he broke her embrace.

“I am many other things, Elora. Unfortunately for you. And I refuse to put you in danger, too.”

He gave her a strange look, that made her shiver inexplicably. Before she could move a finger, he put a gloved hand on her forehead. Instinctively, she closed her eyes.

“Farewell, Elora.”

She felt a pressure on her jugular, precise and brutal. Her vision darkened. Vertigo engulfed her.

She opened her eyes with difficulty. Having fallen to her knees without realizing it, she was alone in the living room. The room was considerably colder, and she shivered. She looked around haphazardly, then leapt toward the ajar door, already regretting her previous actions.

“Tristahn?”

But in the deserted street, under pouring rain, no one answered. She stayed in the threshold a while, looking for a sign, a light in the darkness, then, little by little, became pensive, resigned.

.

_**We've been lonely** _

_**We've been lonely too long** _

.

 

 

She didn’t see the pair of ruby eyes, hidden away, looking at her with anger and sadness. When she put her hand to her face to wipe a single tear, the red eyes blinked, then turned away and disappeared in the night, full of remorse.

.

.

.

.

.

Elora gave one last loving look at the bed: nestled under the covers, Nathan was sleeping soundly. Silently, she left the room. After some hesitation, the old dog followed her slowly, and she closed the door behind him.

With a relieved sigh – it was rare for Nathan to fall back asleep so easily – she looked around the living room hopefully. Her heart leapt in her chest when she saw that their visitor was still there. When she had seen Tristahn Kelos’ bitter and worried expression, she had feared that he would take advantage of her absence to leave. The hunter didn’t like goodbyes, and every time he left, she thought it might be for good. Yet he had come back several times, always unexpectedly. Even after two years. Even after the last night when, in a haze, she had let her heart speak, and thought he might feel the same curious attraction...

It was a strange relationship they shared, in truth. She knew she wasn’t the only one to long after what could have happened that night. But the hunter had refused all contact apart from a kiss, fervent but without tomorrow. Through his words, she understood that he did not want to put her in danger. When one knew his “profession” and the ones he hunted, it was understandable that anybody close to him could become a target. But if such retaliation was to be feared, wouldn’t it have been better for Tristahn to cut all ties with her? She kept turning this thought in her head, but still didn’t know what to make of his return.

Silently, she walked to the young man in the armchair, his back turned to her. She was suddenly pulled from her thoughts by Bear’s whines: laying again in front of the fireplace, the old dog was staring at the hunter.

“Tristahn?”

Only silence answered her. Worried, she closed in...

.

.

.

“… _Yori.”_

Her pen slipped with a squeaking sound, leaving a crude ink stain on the paper. Everything disappeared: the comfy room, the watchful dog, a worried Elora walking in. Yori shuddered, a buzzing sound in her ears. Something far stronger than Elora’s diaphanous and barely sketched personality followed, heavy with resentment and full of a colossal memory. He growled within her, threatening.

“ _What’s the use?”_

Yori came back to the page, put the end of her pen on the paper, began to write a word...

“ _What’s the use!”_

A flash, and the pen slammed on the wooden floor, thrown away. Yori’s fist closed on a page of the notebook, hard enough to wrinkle it. She gulped, closed her eyes.

“Let me write you, Zero.”

Reduced to a memory, he grew impatient at the edge of her consciousness. For one flashing second, she glimpsed a young amethyst-eyed man, dressed in the Academy black uniform, throwing his belongings in his bag and leaving the room without looking back, without paying attention to the other students’ stunned gazes and Yuuki’s calls. A distant déjà-vu, insignificant and barely relevant, and yet perfect illustration of the current situation.

Zero was turning his back. To his sorrow, his responsibilities, his fate. Faced with something he couldn’t control, he was running away.

Yori curled up on herself, in torture. In the depths of her conscience, a silent struggle without mercy was taking place, bringing new tears.

“Let me write you, Zero,” she said again in a whisper. “Let me write you...”

“ _What for? What good does it do to you, Yori?”_

His voice was hoarse and weak, denatured so much that for a brief moment, she almost didn't recognize the hunter in it. To balk like this wasn't like him: was it a hallucination, rather than a memory?

“ _Leave the past where it is, Yori-san...”_

Zero’s tone became muffled, even more distant. Along with this otherworldly voice, sharp but flickering, another image came to her mind. She was in a hospital bed, helpless.

Sitting by her side, Zero had his head between his hands, exhausted, wounded too. Discouraged, _broken_. A memory of her own, this time. Her heart was heavy.

She chased the reminiscence away, but Zero’s presence remained, vindictive.

“ _Leave the past where it is. It never brings anything good.”_

“I tried, Zero-kun. I tried for seven years. I can’t. I can’t live with this inside myself. Let me write it. And maybe then, everything will disappear.”

Zero growled in frustration. One final memory overwhelmed her, for one brief moment: in tears, mortified, she was looking at him walking away. Clenched fist, head low, he was going away, bitter but _vanquished_.

That distant day, way after Kaname's assassin had been identified. That day when, having run out of strength and patience, Zero almost gave up.

Gave up on Yuuki...

Yori opened her eyes, took another pen. Almost without noticing it, she grabbed the notebook where Zero and Elora’s common past was consigned, and, facing the story she was writing a minute ago, immediately started another paragraph.

A different atmosphere, ethereal, nightmarish. Zero’s dreams and memories were tangled, seemingly incoherent. Yet Yori chose a piece of memory without hesitation and unfurled the thread of her future story.

.

.

.

The Lisenthard streets are deserted, and rain pours down heavily tonight. It soaks his anthracite hair, weighs down his clothes. Panting, he offers his face to the icy, unending stream, as if to erase, _wash away_ what he is. To no avail.

Thirst is tormenting him, his faithful and merciless companion. Ever since that accursed night when he was born as a vampire, he never escaped it for long. Even after learning to tame it through years of patience and efforts, still, it comes back every time, as sharp, as imperious as the first day. Sometimes without warning, called out by purely human feelings and sentiments.

Fear. Tenderness. Tiredness. _**Desire** _...

Mindless of the icy drops falling on his cheeks and forehead, he opens his eyes, gets lost in the immensity of the veiled sky. Despite himself, he thinks about Elora, whom he just left – or rather _ran away from_.

“ _Stay here. Just for tonight.”_

He thinks about her words, her hesitant hands on him, her soft and welcoming lips kissing him. His own hesitation, then their _eagerness_ ...and he grits his teeth – his _f_ angs – to bite back a desperate curse. In the two years they had known each other, how could he have ignored the inevitability that their story would evolve like this? Didn’t he feel this undeniable attraction bonding them; they who shared similar experiences? Had he blinded himself? Or worse, did he hope for it? But to what end?

“What are you waiting for, Zero?”

He lowers his head and stares at the end of the alley battered by wind and rain. A dark silhouette seems to have appeared out of nowhere. Small, undeniably feminine, she walks toward him, calm and mindless of the downpour. She stops near a gaslight, showing half of her mournful face under the crude and flickering light. He recognizes her immediately, and his face freezes as a stupor comes over him.

She wears a black uniform with white borders, a red ribbon and a white insignia on her right arm. Her short brown hair brushes her shoulders, soaked with rain, and sticking to the pale skin of her slender neck.

Deep fang marks scar her throat, drenched in blood.

“What are you waiting for?” she repeats, more ruthlessly. “You didn’t hesitate with me.”

Her voice is ill-assured, wrecked with whimpers despite her gaze trying to be fiery. Coming back from his surprise, he stares at her for a while, before turning away.

“Leave me alone. You don’t exist anymore.”

He decides against coming back to his hotel, to prepare this journey home planned for tomorrow. His bitter memories have given way to a mere dream, and he doesn’t plan to follow heedlessly. He knew it as soon as _she_ appeared.

The Yuuki “from before.”

He hears her contain a surprised yelp, astonished to be ignored so easily.

“What’s the point in suffering, Zero?” she screams from behind him. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. You can soothe yourself, you can end it all. You just have to bite and drink!”

Her words echo in the deserted street. He leaves in the opposite direction, trying to close his mind to this begging voice, full of good intentions, this plea from the past.

“Zero, listen to me!”

She runs after him with a clicking sound of boots on the soaked street and grabs his coat with one hand. Like a child, she pulls him back. And suddenly, the smell of blood surrounds him. A scent of freshness and innocence, a subtle mix of bravery and fear, sorrow, gentleness and unspoken-attraction. Dead in his tracks, his eyes widen.

No. It looks like it, but it isn’t Yuuki’s blood. Similar, but more mature...

Something’s wrong. This is not normal. This is too real. Too _tempting_. His body – the vampire within – is already reacting.

“Zero, please, look at me!”

She faces him, grabs his arms hurriedly, searches for his gaze. Thrown off-balance, he looks down at her, so frail, so fragile in her wet clothes. Her hazelnut eyes shine with distress and exhaustion. On her cheeks, tears mix with rain. Under her torn uniform, her shirt is soaked with blood.

“I don’t want to see you suffer. You just have to bite **her** , Zero!”

“Shut up…!”

He pushes her away, and she falls on the paved ground with a small cry. She looks up, prideful, and he blinks, unable to stand this wounded, pleading gaze. “You just have to bite her...” a dream, that’s all. A _nightmare_...

But his thirst and the smell of blood are quite real. He has to wake up before things get worse.

“It this why you hesitate?” Yuuki whispers, at his feet. “Because she looks like me? Because you care about her? But why did you keep seeing this Elora, if you can’t even tell her who you really are?”

 

He shuts his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the laments tearing down his heart. When did he fall asleep? In which conditions? Thirst, insidious and powerful desire, torments him and takes perverse pleasure in muddling up his memories.

“Bite her, Zero. Do you hear me?”

His heart skips a beat. Yuuki’s voice is suddenly icy. No more whimpers, no more pitiful quavers. As if moved by an inescapable pressure, he opens his eyes and watches the one facing him now.

Instead of a uniform, she wears a long black dress, simple but elegant, scooped out at the shoulders and slit on the side. She’s taller, haughtier than the teenage Yuuki. Her long dark hair contrasts violently with her marmoreal skin. Her throat is now untouched, but on her thin and seductive lips, a few red spots remain. Her fangs glisten in the dark.

“You don’t want me to kill, and you don’t want me to die either, so be it. So accept it, and bite her” the Pureblood commands. “You came here for this, to get us both out of this deadlock. It was your decision.”

He looks at her, alarmed, and yet tries to comprehend one thing: she cannot be there. In the state he left her, she probably cannot hold even a simple conversation. He knows she is but a phantasmagoria created by his mind, tortured by thirst, but yet he feels compelled to answer her.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh yes, it is”, the Pureblood coldly answers. “This woman is human, and you are a vampire. This is why you never tried anything with her, despite your mutual attraction. You know all our desires are connected. _**All of them**_. And that one day, even if you don’t bite her, your thirst will end up betraying you.”

With these words, she raises the Bloody Rose, the barrel pointed at the hunter’s forehead.

“You are a vampire, so act like one. Do you need a more striking reminder, Zero? I won’t hesitate. Aren’t you tired trying to pass as something you are not?”

The Bloody Rose shines in the darkness, ready to shoot. It’s only a dream: he frowns but doesn't move. She doesn’t either. Like the rain falling even harder, his thirst is only growing stronger, making him shiver with anticipation. The throbbing pain in his back keeps tormenting him, slashed with the quite real wound she inflicted on him during their brief but intense fight in the Lisenthard harbour. With each passing second, the accelerated healing steals from him more energy and self-control.

The roaring of motorcycles reaches his enhanced hearing, slowly growing louder.

“Danger is closing in. Bite her, Zero.”

“Not now. Not like this. She has to know the truth first.”

“Please…!”

Alongside the Pureblood, the uniform-wearing Yuuki has reappeared.

“I thought you accepted it, that you would help us even after all these years!”

Wide-eyed, he doesn't hear her. On the neck of the teenager, the wound is still gaping. For one second he sees her again, young and defenceless near an Academy window, alone under this moonlight, when for the first time he embraced and bit her. He remembers her stupor, her distressed sigh when his fangs pierced her tender flesh. The terror and incomprehension seeping in her blood, this additional flavour that delighted his predator senses, plunging the human he still was into bottomless guilt.

He cannot live this again. He doesn’t want to live this again.

And he doesn’t want to put Elora through this.

“You did this with me, Zero,” she whispers, worried. “Because it was necessary, and I eventually understood it. If she cares about you, she will understand too. Hurry!”

“No way…!”

As if to taunt him, his own canines grow under his clenched lips. His throat is dry, and an irresistible animal urge rises in him, while all his senses are frantically looking for prey, no matter what it may be. The Pureblood's eyes shine in the darkness, crimson, while her shaking hands still point the Bloody Rose at his forehead. Thirst has been stalking them for far too long now.

He thought sleep would shelter him from his demons – _their_ demons, now that he’s chained to her – and would prevent him from doing the unforgivable. He was wrong. He has to wake up. Quickly!

“Bite her, Zero!” barks the Pureblood. “And save us!”

“Stop hesitating,” the human whispers.

He closes his eyes, his body shaking. An invisible hand, full of solicitude, closes on his shoulder, gently shakes him.

“ _Tristahn?”_

Yuuki whimpers. The Pureblood’s voice becomes everything, and her command overwhelms him.

“ **Bite her, Zero! Now!”**

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“Tristahn?”

Elora reaches the armchair, alarmed by her friend’s lack of reaction. Against all odds, he has fallen asleep. Arms crossed, his head leaning against the backrest, he looked almost at peace. Surprised at first – she never saw him asleep, and he looked strangely vulnerable like this – she then noticed the drops of sweat on his forehead and temples, and his spasms, which she attributed to an insidious, ongoing pain. His fists were clenched on his arms, as if to prevent himself from moving, threatening to tear the thin fabric of his shirt.

In his sleep, he let out a muffled, barely audible whisper. After a slight hesitation, she grabbed his shoulder, without reaction. Worried, she took his pulse on his wrist, brushed his forehead. He didn't react to those slight touches, which was alarming in itself, and he was burning with fever. His heart was beating irregularly, something that wasn't normal for someone simply asleep. The hunter mumbled again, and Elora noticed that he kept repeating one word, like a plea.

“Yuuki...”

At their feet, Bear suddenly stood up and showed his teeth. At the same moment, a roaring engine echoed in the street outside, grew stronger, multiplying and becoming deafening. Elora paled when she heard, through the rumbling of brakes, masculine voices, indistinct but nervous. Someone shouted orders, while the sound of steps followed under her draped window. As an echo to her dog's muffled growl, she heard a furious bark that convinced her.

The Militia. And they didn’t need many reasons to show up on her street, so far from the town centre: they had a tracking dog, trained to follow a vampire’s trail, and one of those monsters had led them here. Fear in her gut, she turned to Tristahn, still unconscious. He said he had fought and beaten a dangerous vampire tonight: had he failed? Or worse, had he been followed? She looked at the Bloody Rose in his shoulder holster, then nodded and shook him harder.

“Wake up…!”

They suddenly knocked at her door thrice, so hard it shook. Elora was devastated when she understood: was the vampire here? In _her_ home?

“ **This is the Militia! Open up!”**

She thought with terror about Nathan, alone and asleep in the other room. Then something grabbed her wrist and twisted it cruelly. She didn’t have time to cry; she was thrown against the wall, so violently it winded her. A warm and powerful body pressed against hers, an iron grip seized her throat, muffling her scream. Her eyes widened and, terrified, caught the eyes that had haunted her dreams for two years.

Two blood-red irises were watching her sombrely. In the darkness, his fangs glistened, voracious, as he curled his lips in a hoarse sigh. She moaned, out of breath, unable to think.

“Tristahn…!”

“ **Open up! That’s an order!”**

A second flash and the hunter let her go. In the same movement, he unsheathed the Bloody Rose, turned and seemed to shield her with his body, against the imminent danger hiding behind the door. Aiming with the heavy gun, he stayed still.

A few seconds passed, long, interminable. While fuss reigned in the street, there was a deep silence in the room, apart from the crackling flames and the growling dog, and their two stunned, panting breaths.

Light-headed, nauseous, Elora let herself slide to the ground, struggling to not panic. Her heart was pounding in her ears while, dismayed, she stared at the silhouette turning his back to her. This masculine silhouette, so familiar, this protective shadow that ended up embodying safety and trust, to the point that, in her nightmares, only this presence could soothe her, when she thought about it.

It could not be. It just _**couldn’t be** _. Not him...not this...

“Not you, Tristahn...”

She fought back a whimper. Holding her breath, she waited and dreaded the moment when he would turn, look at her again, confirming the unbearable situation. Silent, petrified with terror, she saw him slowly lower his weapon while tension escaped his shoulder. He put a trembling hand to his face – _his_ _**lips** _ – and shuddered, as if suddenly back to his senses. And finally, while she mentally begged him to not do this, to leave, leave her in denial, he turned to her.

And she saw again his irises, no longer amethyst but crimson, burning with animal desire, irrevocable. His canines, sharp and provoking. His breath, now steady, but which still seemed to echo like a parched growl, threatening, in the ears of the one he assaulted.

The bangs on the door intensified, but none of them flinched. In any minute, the Militia would tear down the door. The dogs would identify the vampire, who could no longer hide his true nature.

And in a whisper, the hunter apologized once more.

“I wish I could have told you in other conditions...Forgive me, Elora.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Zero is between a rock and a hard place...  
> ....so of course it's the perfect way to end a chapter. You'll just have to be patient...care to share your thoughts in the meantime?


	15. Chapter Nine: Unforgivably - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Did you like last week's cliffhanger? I assure you it's _not_ the last one.

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_A different time. A different world._

_The end of an era..._

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“I only want your blood, Yuuki.”

One last embrace. One last plea.

“This is unbearable...disgusting. That’s what I am, isn’t it…?”

Almost an apology...

One last bite. One ultimate taste.

Reluctantly, he turned away from the tempting skin that had not flinched under his fangs. His scarlet stare plunged into her brown eyes, in which an abhorrent crimson glimmer now shone.

Silent, she held his gaze without blinking. She was already pretty before, full of this childish beauty that always made him feel compassionate and protective towards her. Now that she had been awoken as a Pureblood, she was beyond words. Graceful, ethereal. In this very moment, the image of innocence.

Inside him, neither the human nor the vampire could resist the spell of her slightly parted lips. Ruthlessly, but passionately, he kissed her.

Frozen against him, she barely reacted. He broke the kiss and looked at her again, their lips so close a mere shiver could unite them again. Despite himself, he looked for, _hoped for_ an answer to his mute declaration in her eyes. But though he had always known how to read her, her face remained neutral, her eyes clear. Heavy-hearted, he had to face the fact.

Her blood, her smell, the silkiness of her never-ending hair, everything was similar and yet different at the same time. Made into such perfection that the vampire in him was growling with frustration. But it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her anymore.

The human for whom he would have happily given his life...was gone.

He embraced her slender shoulders and held her close, unable to stand her indifferent expression any longer. Once again, she didn’t react, she who usually would have fought back, red with shame. He whispered, in agony.

“Now that you have your memory back... are you free?”

...from this terror that she had suffered for several days? From this madness slowly consuming her?

“Yes.”

Even her voice was different. More controlled, almost blank. He closed his eyes, then breathed in one last time the sweet fragrance of her hair. In torture, he finally pushed her away.

It was too late.

It was over.

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She had said no more, in fear that her throat, tight with bitterness, would betray her. Her fists clenched to restrain herself from embracing him, she was waiting, her breath taken away.

She had not pushed him away, knowing that they were sharing their last moments together. That once they let go of each other, there would be no going back.

“Going back.” Kaname wouldn’t allow it, as he so clearly threatened, a few minutes earlier. Because someone had dared to raise a hand to his young sister.

“Going back...” Made even more hungry for vengeance after his brother’s death, determined to exterminate all Purebloods, Zero certainly wouldn’t accept it either.

As for her...there wasn’t any question, for her mind was already made up. Would she regret it for long? Maybe not. The short history she shared with Zero was, akin to her mortal existence, nothing compared to what awaited her with Kaname. Even if...

...Even if forgetting those ten years of humanity would be painful.

...Even if leaving Zero and making him her enemy meant leaving an old hope to die. A bit like old fairy tales: tender, vaguely cruel, forever unfinished.

“Go, Yuuki.”

Zero stepped away. As always, her adoptive brother was able to read her thoughts.

“Go to the man who can walk forever by your side. But next time we see each other...I will kill you.”

Stronger with each passing second since being “reborn”, the Pureblood didn’t flinch when she heard this promise. She simply blinked. On her lips, the cold wind chased away the last trace of warmth left by their kiss. Only the taste of her own blood remained, unwittingly left by him.

Heavy-hearted, she heard herself answering in a clear and calm voice, before turning away. Her words echoed for a while through the crumbled walls of their school, the only witnesses of their last exchange.

“In that case, I will always run from you, Zero.”

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“ _If having an enemy is your only reason to live...”_

 

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_The end of an era...the beginning of another._

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“...bite her...”

A deathly silence reigned in the tunnels. At the bottom of a chasm, two ruby eyes were shining, haggard, half-closed. With parched lips, she was muttering a long and slow litany, broken by her ragged breath. Her idle hands, still covered in blood, clawed the dirty ground.

“...are you waiting for? No choice...”

Lost in dreams that did not belong to her, limp and weak, she couldn’t hear, see, feel anything. And yet, through these eyes, these nostrils, this skin that wasn’t hers, she sensed everything.

_The smell of blood, singing, tempting, under this fragile skin. Invisible yet everywhere._

_This exciting flavour filling the air, torturing her taste buds, the terror exhaled by the prey..._

She couldn’t control anything but felt _everything_ , and it was driving her insane. Even more so than before.

“...What are you waiting for...Zero?”

She sobbed even harder. Dying, knowing what danger awaited him, she curled up in the dust, submissive, powerless. And suddenly she **screamed**.

An inhuman shriek. An explosion of desire and anger, that echoed for a long time through the deserted tunnels. A shriek climbing up this chain, this bond between them. A new order that – she knew it – would reach him and wouldn’t suffer any refusal.

Him, her liegeman, her new executioner.

Him, her right-hand man. Her devouring canines by proxy.

“ **Bite her, Zero! Now!!!”**

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“ _ **Bite her and leave!”**_

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It was as if he got hit by a silver bullet: brutal, suddenly master of every thought. The source of unbearable pain. The only difference was that, if such a projectile had hit his back, smashing his ribs to end up in his heart, his thirst would have gone away, replaced by death, or brief unconsciousness.

And yet, the bullet, or rather the _**tacit order** _ which just hit him only made the appalling monster growling inside him grow stronger. For a short second, he closed his eyes and thought he was losing his mind, fell to his knees, winded. In his buzzing ears, Yuuki’s wordless order was still ringing, like a shock wave travelling through an invisible chain.

 _Bite. Drink._ _**And run!** _

His head ready to explode, he put his hands to his temples. On his tensed cheek, he felt the smooth and cold contact of the Bloody Rose, that he was still painfully clenching. Instinctively, he tried to cling to this familiar sensation.

“ _I refuse.”_

This thirst, this bloodlust wasn't his, it was relayed to him through this unnatural link she had created. The reason behind such communication did not matter at the moment: instinctively, for their survival, he had agreed to solve this once Yuuki was somewhere safe. Yet, doing it the way the Pureblood, in her madness, wanted to – murder, pure and simple – was out of the question...

To kill to feed; he was almost certain that wasn’t like Yuuki. And this definitely wasn’t how he wanted to act.

“ _I refuse...”_

Zero didn’t deny his nature, he wasn’t fifteen anymore. But since that _fateful day_ , he had vowed that no one would suffer from his thirst, that any blood he needed would be obtained freely and safely. Given voluntarily, out of good will or with an agreed upon payment.

Since that _fateful day_ , he had held onto this principle without failing. It was the only way for him to distance himself from his enemies. A principle, a moral code, unlike the _others_.

Unlike the vampire-born and the aristocrats, for whom the pinnacle of magnanimity was to smother their victims under their charms, to bleed them without them knowing, before disappearing into the shadows.

Unlike the Level E, who _snatched_ their sustenance without any pride, pity or remorse.

Unlike the Pureblood. Distinguished, measured, but often cruel and bestial, too often untouchable in their privilege.

“ **I refuse.”**

Such had been this other oath, that he swore to himself, that accursed day when, for the very last time, he had bitten Yuuki.

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“ _ **I REFUSE!”**_

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**Bloody Cross Chronicles**

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**Chapter 9**

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_**Unforgivably** _

 

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“I wish I could have told you in other conditions...Forgive me, Elora.”

The hunter only whispered. Upon hearing his deep, raspy voice, the young woman had curled up even more against the wall, thinking that he was apologizing for something he hadn’t done yet. But the man stood tall, still, in the flickering firelight, the loaded Bloody Rose in hand. Then suddenly he froze, as if under a new wave of throbbing pain. Pale, he fell to his knees, his head between his hands, and stopped moving. Only his breath, panting and irregular, showed that he was still conscious. Alive. _Dangerous_.

Stunned, Elora was staring fearfully at the man who had once saved her, and who tonight wasn’t any better than the vampires responsible for her torment. Shaking, she was trying to control her breath, when the door shook a third time.

“ **This is the Militia! Open up or we tear down the door!”**

The furious hammering was like an electric shock. She glanced around her: on Tristahn Kelos’ bag, his sabre was waiting. Pushed by adrenalin, she leapt to her feet, and, without taking her eyes off the _enemy_ , reached out and grabbed the hilt, swiftly unsheathing it.

The blade quietly hissed when coming out of its sheath. An irresistible prickling feeling invaded each of her scars, so much that Elora thought some of them would open again. She winced with pain but held on, as always when she touched something made to fight vampires: it was as if her torturers had maimed her flesh so much that they left a part of themselves inside it.

Steady on her feet, she held the sabre with both hands and pointed it at Kelos. At the same instant he looked up, and she met his purple amethyst gaze, feverish under his grey bangs. For one moment, she thought she had been wrong, that hearing the Militia had made her panic and that her imagination – her _nightmares_ – had fooled her senses.

But as if to dispel her doubts, the blade, a few centimetres away from Kelos’ forehead, began to shine gently, revealing the anti-vampire runes engraved in the silver alloy. In the eyes of the hunter, she still saw the slight, dreaded crimson gleam. And when he unclenched his jaws, she couldn’t help but see his canines, faint but unmistakably sharp.

“Step back,” she whispered, in a hoarse but firm tone. “Right now.”

“Elora,” he began, “it’s...”

“Do as I say!”

She was trying to control her voice, knowing that she would only alert the Militia if she screamed. And she didn’t want to give these vandals another reason to break into her house.

Reluctantly, Kelos stood up and stepped back, still holding his Bloody Rose in his hand. She knew he couldn’t kill her with such a weapon, so she didn’t order him to drop it, and merely looked at him in the eyes.

“Why, Kelos? Why…?”

She cursed her own weakness that made her voice shake. Visibly affected by her involuntary quiver, the hunter gulped, his face still neutral despite everything.

“Elora, this isn’t the time for...”

He stopped when more banging sounds punctuated his words. In his amethyst irises, the red glow intensified as his attention shifted to the entrance door: the Militia was trying to break the door open. He clenched his fist, looked instinctively for a way out; but apart from the door, the only window big enough for him to fit through led to the same alley where all of Lisenthard Militia seemed to have gathered. He bit back a curse then shuddered again, once more in the grip of a sharp spasm of pain. Elora straightened her grip on the sabre, indecisive.

What to do? Everything was jumbled in her head. If only she had more time! But it would only be minutes before the Militia started invading her house, armed to the teeth. And Nathan, sleeping in the other room! What would happen if they all fired at once? She bit her lip, while her scars throbbed painfully.

Tristahn Kelos was a vampire. He had lied to her for two years. If he had come back precisely tonight, she thought she knew why, and it made her nauseous. He was desperate. He had attacked her without warning, and who knew what could have happened if the Militia hadn’t arrived?

But Tristahn Kelos was also her saviour. One of her few friends, and the only one who knew what she had to endure to keep the Association a secret along with the memory of her late husband, a murderous vampire driven insane by bloodlust.

Tristahn... the only man for whom she still felt a strange attraction, this _tenderness_...

But he had betrayed her, just like her husband! He had _**attacked** _ her! She knew all too well you couldn’t trust a creature of the Night. She just had to wait for justice to be served...The Militia wasn’t exactly composed of professionals, but they knew how to handle bloodsuckers.

She just had to wait, and this vampire would get no less than he deserved...

“...Elora.”

She avoided his gaze to focus on his canines and felt a lump in her throat. Her hands were shaking as she struggled to answer this unbearable dilemma. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wished she could break down, cry all she could, not think about anything.

A new bang on the door. The wood creaked. She gulped, took a long breath.

And made a decision.

“ _Bear_. Come here.”

The old hunting dog, growling over and over, torn between the two threats of the hunter and the Militia, quieted and ran to his mistress’ feet, showing his fangs. Holding the sabre in front of her, without taking her eyes off Kelos, the young woman stepped to the side, toward the room where Nathan was asleep. With one hand, she opened the door, ordered something to the dog who immediately slid into the room. She locked the door behind him, still staring at Kelos defiantly.

“If you lay one finger on Nathan, I swear that I’ll...”

“I will never hurt him, Elora, and you know it,” he growled.

“You said it yourself, Tristahn. I know too little about you.”

A new bang, new exclamations in the alley. Elora pursed her lips, gripping the sabre compulsively. Kelos seemed eerily calm, but the slightest sound from outside made him shiver. Quick as lightning, he tried to reach for his bag, but the invisible ache took him once more and, and he stumbled with a moan. Thrown off-balance, Elora watched him pull himself together again, with more difficulty each time. A wounded, trapped beast: that was what he reminded her of. And she realised with dread that it wasn’t just an image, and that she was trapped with him.

“Step back. Again,” she ordered, pointing with the sabre to the furthest corner of the room.

Stunned by his latest wave of pain, the hunter obeyed with ill grace. She stayed close to the wall opposite him. Without taking her eyes off him, she grabbed the small anti-vampire revolver she left in the doorway when she had welcomed him, one hour ago. She dropped the sabre, too heavy for a novice like her, and immediately the prickling stopped in her scars. She pointed the barrel at the hunter, who didn’t flinch.

She hesitated again, glanced at Nathan’s room. Behind the door, she could almost hear Bear’s continuous growl, the last guardian of her son.

And, to Kelos’ mystification, she lowered her weapon.

“If they find you here, if they know what you are, they might hurt me and Nathan. And I won’t let that happen.”

She put the revolver in her belt and glared at him.

“I owe you my life. So let me do this.”

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“Stop!”

At the sound of this muffled voice, all the militiamen froze. A deep silence fell in the alley, while everyone pricked their ears, astounded.

“Stop, I’ll open the door!”

Creaking bolts followed the muffled words, pulling the militiamen out of their trance. The ones who were trying to tear it down immediately dropped their makeshift battering ram – a beam they found in an abandoned house a few steps away. The following instant, dozens of gun barrels, revolvers and other handguns aimed at the house, aiming at the healer symbol engraved on the wooden door – a flying bird above a cross. Among the militiamen, many were shivering with apprehension. Without mentioning the furious and wary growls of the hunting dog with them.

After several other bolts creaking, and a long hesitation, the door slowly opened. The militiamen beneath the porch stepped back a bit, aiming at their target, their stomach knotted with fear. Lingering, insidious, in every man's mind, was the murder scene they had seen earlier in the port. Only a few of them actually saw it, but what they told their companions was more than enough...

A massacre. As if a pack of wild animals had taken out on an entire Militia patrol, tearing their companions into bloody shreds, barely recognizable. Such carnage that, among the ones brave – or reckless – enough to view the scene, several had run away, to empty their stomachs.

And the worst part? According to one of the victim’s last radio calls, one vampiress was behind this slaughter. _**Only one** _. That was enough to worry even the toughest militiaman.

“Get out with your hands where I can see them, and no one will hurt you,” thundered one of the lieutenants.

The man was a former military discharged after a battle wound, and he was aware of the importance of him sounding collected among his troops, composed essentially of civilians, young nervous recruits and old, trigger-happy veterans.

Unaware of all the tension in the Militia, the person looked outside, and immediately closed the door.

“Please, lower your weapons!” the voice cried out, unmistakably feminine. “There’s a child in this house!”

Through the ajar door, under the crude gaslight, two grey eyes were shining. Some eyes turned from the door to the lieutenant, expectant.

“We can’t do that. Not until you’ve identified yourself. Open the door wide, and show yourself, so I can see your hands and face,” he repeated in a strong voice.

There were several seconds of silence, then, reluctantly, the door creaked open, and a young blond-haired woman appeared on the front porch. Wearing a wrinkled brown dress and a hastily donned coat, she obediently raised her hands to the level of her head, her breath uneven. At once, the Militiamen focused on her eyes, dove-grey, her teeth which, behind her parted lips, seemed normal. She remained silent for several long seconds so that everyone could register the crucial details, knowing that the slightest mistake on her part could cause a storm of bullets – non-lethal if she wasn't a vampire, but painful nevertheless.

“State your identity,” ordered the lieutenant.

But many among of the Militiamen had already recognized the young woman, once a public figure of the town. Her wary gaze swept the assembly, and while she was obviously distressed by the dozens of weapons aimed in her direction, she stated her name in a clear voice.

“Elora Dunham. This is my house. My son Nathan is inside, so please, lower your weapons...”

Her voice quivered on this plea, and several of the younger militiamen wanted to obey her. They all heard about the sad story of the former mayor's wife, the sole survivor of the fire that killed her husband and the entire council two years ago. At least, that was what the official statements said. But since the truth about the Night Creatures had been revealed, there had been some rumours about the true reasons behind the fire.

Their lieutenant gestured at them not to drop their guard too soon. With one assured hand, he was holding the dog back. The animal was pulling relentlessly on his silver collar, growling and staring at the house.

“You’re human, so you have nothing to fear, Miss Dunham. Who’s in this house right now? Why did it take you so long to open your door?”

“There’s only my three-year-old son,” she said again, more steadily. “And your arrival woke him up, so I had to comfort him.”

The lieutenant frowned, and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Mrs Elora, we believe there's a vampire in your house. We have to search it. Move aside, without any sudden movement."

The young woman paled, something they all understood: the idea that a natural-born killer was hidden in your house wasn’t a comforting one. She whispered in a strangled voice:

“B-But...My son is...”

Out in the cold, the nervous troops were getting impatient. The lieutenant cut short any discussion.

“Let’s go, guys! Follow it!”

He let go of the hound, who ran to the house. On her front steps, the young woman saw it coming with rising distress.

“Wait…!”

About to reach the steps separating it from the door, the dog stopped dead in its tracks. Immediately, its fur stood on end as it showed its fangs. When she made a movement in its direction, the dog leapt away and barked furiously. Its silver collar, engraved with anti-vampire runes, was faintly, but unequivocally shining. For the militiamen, such behaviour was unmistakable, and they reacted instantly.

“She’s one of them!” cried someone, screaming out loud what they were all thinking.

All weapons locked instantly on the young woman again, deathly pale. One of the militiamen turned the light of his motorcycle on, pointing the blinding ray on their new target.

“No! Wait!”

While they all expected another detail, an aggressive gesture betraying her true nature, the young woman did something strange: she took her coat off. It fell on the snow-covered doorstep. Suddenly, in the crude light, her white arms appeared, uncovered by the brown woollen dress.

Scar-covered arms. Some as sharp as a knife cut, others barely visible, like a small clawing mark. And some, unaltered, clearly from a bite. And all these old wounds, uncountable and pinkish, seemed to shine under the crude light. Immediately, the dog barked even more furiously, its collar gleaming.

Long seconds passed without anyone moving, all astonished. Slowly, Elora lowered her arms and, cautiously, took something from the back of her belt. Other Militia motorcycles appeared at the end of the street and stopped near the gathering, but no one paid any attention to the newcomers, as they struggled to pass through their companions.

“Several of you have already been...bitten by these creatures. Those ones know very well what I mean.”

Elora took her own anti-vampire revolver from her belt and held it by its barrel, showing it to everyone. She tried to not shake when some militiamen aimed at her again, thinking it was a new threat. With shivering, skilful hands, she opened the revolver and ostensibly emptied the cylinder, only keeping one bullet she then showed to the assembly. They all recognized the anti-vampire ammunition, from its silver shine to the runes covering it. Her voice, hesitant at first, became more assertive.

“Vampires don’t only hurt you with their fangs. It’s as if their saliva poisons you, becomes a part of you.”

She extended her left arm and, with her right hand, pressed the ammunition on her most-visible scar. After a few moments, the pinkish mark seemed to shine too, then smoke at the contact of the runic silver. If Elora’s wince was to be believed, such a trick was painful.

Among the gathering, some militiamen lowered their weapons for good. Their nods, their defensive gestures toward their arm, their shoulder or their own neck spoke for each of them. One of the veterans whispered an apology to the young woman, and she recognized him, gave him a weak smile. She was still a healer, and not long ago, she had received him to cure a Level E bite.

Elora dropped the bullet in the snow, near her revolver, and descended the first steps of her porch: immediately, the dog stepped back, still growling loudly. She shivered in the cold air and wrapped her arms around her. Her eyes were misty, but she carried on in a muffled voice.

“If I hide my scars, your dogs usually don’t sense them. But, like some of you, I’m filled with _their_ presence, and I hate them for this. So believe me, if one of these demons were in my home... I would know.”

There was a silence, then some gruff agreements and several militiamen lowered their own weapons. A simple but striking speech: the former mayor's wife was doing honour to her late husband...

The dog handler stepped in to reassure his beast and took it away from the young woman. Caught off-guard, the lieutenant shook his head.

"Mrs Elora, we trust you, but..."

“That’s enough.”

Other motorcycles kept appearing out of the two ends of the alley, and one ominous-looking man made his way through the crowd to reach the young woman. Her eyes widened when she recognized him, as everyone greeted him respectfully.

“That’s enough, lieutenant. This is a dead end, obviously. There’s a commotion in the Northern district. A runaway vampire has been seen there.”

“But Captain, with all due respect, we received no order regarding...”

The newcomer glared at him; his grey eyes were so pale they looked almost white, and the lieutenant quieted. As if to humiliate him even further, several of the militiamen’s walkie-talkies crackled.

“ _To all patrols, gunfire and suspicious movements in sector 5-1, asking for backup, I repeat, asking for backup...”_

The entire group shivered then began to move: the firearms were secured and put back in their holsters or straps, and in a concert of roaring engines and clicking of boots, the militiamen began to leave, the officers taking turns in barking orders.

Standing still in the middle of this hive of activity, Elora thought she was waking from a nightmare, suddenly realizing what she had just done. Someone put a heavy and still-warm coat over her shoulders, and she suddenly noticed how cold she was. Shivering, she pulled the coat over her bare arms and looked up at its owner, whom she would have known anywhere.

“’Captain?’” You? But since when are you in the Militia?”

Her grey irises glared at her uncle’s almost identical eyes; he was a butcher and a known detractor of the Militia. Though the man was impressive-looking and considerably strong, her uncle was a solitary and sullen man, and she would have never imagined him as a Lisenthard vigilante, running through the streets and following a vampire’s trail.

“Everyone has their secrets,” he said, still looking inquisitive, watching his troops leaving the scene. “What’s with your speech, Elora? What are you doing? For Christ’s sake, you know very well that if this Association agreed to protect you, that’s because you swore to keep this a secret!”

The young woman pursed her lips. Ill at ease under her elder’s inquisitorial gaze, and she picked up her revolver and the bullets scattered in the snow to put up a front.

“With all due respect, I won’t stand for this rotten Militia entering my home armed to the teeth,” she hissed between her teeth. “Especially when Nathan’s asleep and they’re all on edge. And frankly,” she carried on, trying to look outraged, “How could you join these maniacs?”

“Everyone has their secrets,” repeated her uncle, impassive. “And I had to do something. You know better than me about the horrors of this town. No way I could let this happen any longer, not after what happened to you, Elora.”

She looked at him defeatedly, then tried to reload her gun, but the cold had numbed her hands. In her mind, countless images of the past came back to her: her uncle, so often silent and grumpy, but caring and kind to her and her cousins when she was a kid – her uncle, laughing and happy in a festive evening, good-natured when they were among family – her uncle, this father she’d never had, who walked her to the altar when she got married, and who was as doting towards Nathan as if he were his grandfather.

She knew that his son-in-law’s betrayal and his niece’s ordeal deeply shook him, and strengthened his hatred of vampires. But how could have she pictured him handling weapons and executing creatures of the Night, leading this Militia of ill repute? But after all, tonight, one more revelation wouldn’t change anything!

Her mind wandering, she softly cursed while trying to load her gun. Her uncle’s powerful, stocky hand on hers stopped her shivering. At the same time, the whirl of memories stopped. Just like when she was a child, mere contact, a friendly pat from her substitute father was enough to make her fears disappear.

She gave a tired smile, took a deep breath, and cleared her mind. When she looked up again, her uncle was watching her, with a mixture of worry and pride.

“Go back home, Elora,” he said gravely. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you in the future.”

He looked at her scars gloomily; he'd barely seen them before. She silently nodded and thanked him while they hugged briefly. She gave him back his coat and was climbing her front steps when her uncle grabbed her wrist gently.

“Elora,” he whispered, “Is someone home right now? Except Nathan?”

The young woman stopped herself from shuddering and wrapped her bare arms around her to put up a front.

“What do you mean?” she ventured.

Her uncle hesitated, then sighed.

“Have you seen Tristahn Kelos?”

She picked up her own coat, at the bottom of the steps, and put it on to give her time to think.

“Yes,” she said in a lower tone. “He came by earlier. He was injured, as he often is. I took care of his wounds, and he went back to his mission. He told me he already killed that vampire you’re all looking for. Why, did you want to see him?”

She had always known she was good at making speeches, but her uncle had never been easy to fool. Consciously, she opted for half a lie, guessing that the truth in her words would cover up the rest. Just like she hoped, her elder’s shoulders relaxed, and he sighed, relieved.

“Elora, I want you to listen very carefully: if he comes back, don’t open to him. Understood?”

The young mother stiffened.

“And why is that?”

Her uncle shook his head. Most of the militiamen had left the scene, and only a few of them remained, though at a distance to respect the privacy of the conversation the Captain was having with his niece.

“I saw him tonight too. He looked a bit on edge. His “job” is not an easy one, and we don’t know much about him... So stay away from him.”

Elora clenched her fists. More lies... First her ex-husband, then Tristahn Kelos. And now, her uncle.

“You could have the decency to be clear,” she hissed between her teeth. “If you’re alluding to his true nature, I know about it.”

With bitter satisfaction, she saw her uncle pale.

“You...you knew about it?” he stammered, surprised. “And you’re still seeing him?”

She glared at him as if to remind him she was not his little girl anymore. In truth, she was deeply resentful: as it turned out, he already knew about Tristahn. And yet, he never told her anything.

Her uncle shook his head as if to chase away a nagging idea. His voice was concerned, but also scornful.

“Never mind. Keep your distance, Elora. He may be a hunter, but you can’t trust him. You can’t control this instinct forever, you know it.”

Elora froze. Her relative’s disgusted face was sincere, such was his fatherly concern for his niece. She felt her anger taking over the affection she had for him.

“Tristahn is one of them,” she heard herself saying in an icy voice. “But it doesn’t change anything about what he did for me before.”

Or at least, was that what she wanted to believe? In her mind, the very last memory of her husband – bloodthirsty, threatening – overlapped with Tristahn Kelos'. She clenched her fist, her throat still aching after the hunter's aggression.

“Be careful, uncle.”

He tilted his head, looking both amused and hurt to see her use such an old byname with such resentment.

“You too, little girl,” he whispered.

She nodded one last time, heavy-hearted. Furious at the entire world and at herself, she went back to her house without looking back. As she passed the heavy oak door – barely scratched, she noticed distractedly – she heard her uncle bark some orders. The motorcycles roared, and finally, silence came back.

Out of habit, she carefully locked the door, then put her forehead against the wood, feeling nauseous. After several long seconds, she noticed her own ragged breath and tried to control it. Her legs were weak, and she almost let herself slide to the ground, clutching the doorknob. Nervous sobs came to her, but she repressed them one more time, her hand against her mouth. She couldn't let go. Not yet.

Eyes closed, she listened, looking for another breath, but apart from the crackling logs, nothing was breaking the silence. Leaving her coat on the ground, she left the entrance to the living room and approached the fire to warm herself.

Standing in the corner of the room, near the only window, Kelos was watching her silently. The flickering light accentuated the shadows under his eyes. While they were amethyst-coloured again, they were significantly darker. He had taken his sabre back, and the Bloody Rose was in its holster once more. The hunter glanced one last time at the now-deserted alley. Hidden behind the drapes, he'd probably witnessed the whole scene. He nodded in thanks and put his sabre back in its sheath.

Elora turned away without answering. She walked to the bedroom, opened the door quietly, letting the soft light enter. Still tucked in the big bed, Nathan was sleeping soundly. Laying alongside him, Bear had put his big muzzle between his paws. The old dog glanced anxiously at her and whined softly at his owner. In a whisper, she ordered him to not move.

Gently, she closed the door and allowed herself a deep sigh. Nathan’s sleep was a mysterious thing: Some nights, the slightest sound would awake him, but on others, the world could have come crashing down without making him flinch. She smiled, both thankful and pained.

That was good. She didn’t want him to be aware of what was going to happen. For her mind was made up, wasn’t it? Ever since she stood up to the Militia.

Ever since she lied to all these people, to her uncle...

She grabbed the revolver from her belt, checked, out of habit, that it was properly loaded, then faced Kelos again.

“I will give you my blood. But after this, I want you to disappear from our lives.”

She noticed with dismay that her voice was hoarse from holding back tears. She cleared her throat discreetly. Standing before the chimney, the hunter was thunderstruck.

“It will be the one and only time, Kelos.”

Heart pounding in her chest, head low, Elora advanced slowly, until she was close enough to touch him if she extended her arm. She hesitated for a long time, then put her revolver on the chimney mantle, in clear sight. She couldn’t hold back her tremors anymore, something the hunter couldn’t help but notice.

“Elora, this isn’t...”

“Kelos, no. Don’t argue. Do it quickly.”

Apprehensive, she felt a lump in her throat. Unable to stand his gaze, she lost herself in falsely serene contemplation of the fire. She lifted her hand to her temple, brushing her blond hair away from her right shoulder, and closed her eyes, her neck in plain view.

And she waited. Time seemed to stretch, while her heart was pounding even harder. Finally, she heard him close in, and when he brushed her arm, she had to fight with all her will to not recoil. She clenched her fists, while she tried to free herself from the irrational fear filling her. A few sips of blood: hardly anything, in truth, compared to what she went through _that night_...

Images she would have rather forgot came back by dozens while she was waiting, terrified. Torture scenes, never-ending screams of pain, and fear. Fear of dying. Fear of what would come next, fear that it would never end...

When he grasped her chin and gently forced her to look up, she shuddered, her eyelids desperately closed. The mere thought of crossing his red gaze, to see his fangs again, was filling her with horror.

“Elora. Open your eyes.”

She didn’t listen, her breath caught in her throat. She could stand anything. Anything, except seeing another familiar face distorted by bloodlust.

Kelos let out a curious sigh, and, reflexively, her entire body tensed. There was a clicking sound on her left. Suddenly, she felt the cold contact of the revolver in the palm of her hand, then the hunter’s hand gently closing her fingers on the grip of the weapon. Thrown off-balance, she opened her eyes and, hesitant, looked at him puzzlingly.

His shoulders slumped and his face tensed, he looked exhausted, but also, strangely, calmer, resigned. His amethyst eyes were gleaming softly in the firelight, and he appeared more lucid to her than he had been the entire evening. With a light touch, he invited her to let go of her hair, and it fell back around her shoulders.

“I don’t want to leave you another scar. And here, it’s almost inevitable.”

His face unreadable, he grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding the revolver, put it palm up, and seemed to get lost in the contemplation of her white, fragile skin. Elora fought back a shiver as he gently stroked her wrist, miraculously unharmed and painless; she had heard that any vampire could “feel” a human’s web of vessels and arteries. Was it true? She frowned, surprised to think about such details in a moment like this.

“Here, I can make sure that the scar would be inconspicuous. And it would hurt less.”

He looked up to her, seemingly detached from everything. As she studied him more carefully, she noticed that his irises had a slight tint of carmine, barely noticeable. It should have scared her, but she barely shivered. His low voice was strangely comforting, and his palms, warm and enveloping, were soothing on her wrist – she suddenly realized that she was frozen despite the hearth.

“Is it true?” she whispered, confused. “It can not hurt?”

The hunter wore a mirthless smirk. Incidentally, it uncovered his canines, barely sharper than they should be.

"Unfortunately, no. But it will hurt far less than what you've been through."

She swallowed hard, resigned, then, mute with dread, nodded. Without letting go of her wrist, he invited her with a push on her shoulder to sit in the armchair behind her. She looked at her gun and understood why he gave it back to her: now that she was holding it, she wasn’t shaking anymore. She had a pitiful smile: usually, it was the other way around.

“Keep your eyes open.”

She took her eyes off the revolver to look at him. Kelos had knelt near the armchair, never letting go of her wrist. The strange serenity surrounding him seemed to rub off on her.

“When you close your eyes, it’s too easy to imagine. And imagination is often worse than reality. Keep your eyes open,” he repeated in a muffled voice.

His words were cryptic, and yet they pierced her heart. As if in slow-motion, she saw him lower his eyes and lean on her wrist. His warm breath tickled her, and immediately she felt her fragile skin going numb. She shivered with anticipation when, with infinite slowness, he parted his lips and licked her skin with the tip of his tongue.

“Tristahn...’

Impassive until now, he seemed to stand on edge, but kept his eyes closed. She immediately regretted the urgency in her voice, fearing that he would interpret it as a refusal and lose his composure. But he stayed still, waiting. She swallowed back a whimper, and finally whispered the confession that was burning her lips:

“I’m doing this to repay my debt... but not only because of that.”

She herself didn’t know what she felt. About to give him her blood, she just felt like she had to let him know.

It wasn’t out of pure duty. That if she gave in... it wasn’t only because she owed him her life. But how to say it clearly? Everything was mixed up in her head.

She saw him open his eyes and stare into nothingness. With a strange mixture of fear and attraction, she looked at his irises, no longer amethyst but a deep, surreal ruby red. Frightening. Mesmerizing.

“Zero. My real name is Zero.”

He looked down again, tightened his grip on her forearm, blocking Elora’s view of her own wrist. She didn’t see his fangs but could feel on her skin his warm breath quickening. She instinctively tensed.

Pain. Sharp, precise, electrifying her entire body. But fleeting, already far away.

She felt his lips close on her skin, like a burning circle around her wound, and, slowly, a throbbing, burning sensation rose up her arm, insidious but bearable. She understood that it was because he sucked in slowly. She heard him swallow a first time, carefully. Then a second time, faster.

He shivered and, as if suddenly dominated by his instincts, he tightened his grip and sucked harder. She winced but didn’t struggle. Both disgusted and captivated, she watched the hunter’s face, changing slowly as his exhaustion was leaving him. As if conscious that she was watching him, he slightly opened his eyes and glanced at her, swallowing once more.

His irises, distraught but undeniably red, seemed to scrutinize her beyond the appearances, probing her deepest soul. She held her breath, pierced by this burning, mesmerizing gaze. Back then, during that nightmarish night, her torturers had exhaled an irrefutable will to hurt, to maim: their pleasure was measured by the pain their victim felt. But now, there was no malevolence in Kelos – or Zero, or whatever his name may be.

Just a unique, powerful and commanding desire; a natural, indomitable feeling, and its fulfilment seemed to bring a rare bliss. He was _devouring_ her, accepting everything of her, absolutely everything. In exchange, he would let her live.

_His prey._

For several long seconds, he didn’t blink. Fascinated, she let herself fall back on the armchair, her wrist limp between his powerful, expert hands.

Then, slowly, Elora lowered her eyelids. When vertigo took her, she gave herself to it without resistance.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed this week's installement! As always, we appreciate any feedback, so don't be shy ^^


	16. Chapter Nine: Unforgivably - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! We'd like to thank all the people leaving kudos here - we cherish every single one!

 

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_She flinches with a small cry, and indistinctively brings her hand to her mouth. While she puts the kitchen knife out of reach, the rusty taste of blood unfurls on her tongue._

“ _What’s going on?” a voice calls from the other room._

_Cursing her own clumsiness, she wraps her injured hand in a clean cloth and opens a cupboard, looking for antiseptic and a band-aid._

“ _Don’t worry. I just cut myself. Don’t come in.”_

 _She knows her husband can’t stand the sight of blood. While she bandages her hand, she smiles_ _with pity,_ _thinking about the unflattering stories he told her: the mere sight of one drop of blood can make him faint. Poor soul...The rare times she hurt herself in his presence, she always saw him run away as if the devil himself was after him._

“ _Is it bad?”_

_His voice is hesitant, a bit raspy. She can hear him pacing in the other room._

“ _No, but don’t come in,” she repeats. “If you faint, you might hurt yourself, and we have enough with one wounded person in this house.”_

_She laughs, but judging by his silence, he doesn’t find it funny. She shrugs, finishes putting on her band-aid then promptly washes the knife and quickly cleans the counter._

“ _It’s alright now, you can come in if you want.”_

_He immediately walks in, and she watches him with a smile: he’s deadly pale, just like she thought. She raises her clean, bandaged hand._

“ _See? Nothing bad happened.”_

_He closes in, still impassive, and gently grabs her wounded hand in his. After some hesitation, he closes his eyes and put her slender hand to his lips, gives it a long kiss. She notices with some emotion that his breath is ragged and that he still shudders._

“ _Don’t force yourself like this...it isn’t that painful.”_

“ _This is my punishment for not being able to help you in moments like these.”_

“ _Nonsense...it’s not your fault if you’re afraid of blood.”_

“ _Is_ _it not?”_

_After a while, he finally opens his eyes. His blue irises are darkened with worry. She comforts him with one word, then goes back to her cooking, more carefully this time. Wordlessly, he watches her, then shudders, as if he remembered something._

“ _I forgot, there’s a council meeting in an hour. I’ll be home late.”_

_She glances at him, disappointed, but he has already turned away to go back to the other room. A few minutes later, she hears him coming back, probably to kiss her goodbye. With a smile, she feels him behind her as he embraces her. Careful, she puts away her sharp utensils._

“ _Do you think they’ll leave you alone when_ _the baby’s here?” she hears herself whisper hopefully._

“ _I sure hope so. If not even the mayor can take a few days’ leave for the birth of his child, what would we become?”_

_His voice is already less hoarse, steadier. He puts his hands on her barely-swollen belly, and whispers:_

“ _Goodbye, Nat. Nathan or Natasha, it’s up to you.”_

_He kisses her on the neck, and she stops herself from laughing._

“ _See you tonight,” she whispers before he walks away._

_He smiles at her, the same way he always does when he leaves: distant, but loving._

“ _See you tonight, Elora.”_

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She saw him again in her mind, human-looking. Her husband, the father of her child. She loved him so much...

In the two past years, the memories of their life together kept taking on a new meaning. So many signals that could have alerted her. Had she been more observant, would have she been able to read between the lines? She didn’t know anything about vampires then, but couldn’t she have understood his true nature, and kept him from going insane?

Had she been more open and understanding, could he have trusted her, told her the truth? Would she still love him in those conditions?

Had she been able to _feed_ him...would he have done what he did? Would he still have betrayed her?

How could she know...?

.

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_Unforgivably_

_Part Two_

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A single tear escaped her eyelid, rolling down her cheek.

She was slowly regaining consciousness, feeling a bit nauseous. A familiar masculine voice pulled her from her haze, but his words remained unintelligible. An arm slid beneath her knees, another slid around her shoulders, lifting her from the armchair as if she weighed nothing. Weakened, still unable to open her eyes, she leaned against him.

The slow, careful and lulling walk. The brushing of feet on the floor. A door creaking open. The soft bed. Her head, feeling so heavy on the feather pillow. A small warm body near hers, another, lighter breath.

She sighed, turned to the side with colossal effort, to open her eyes and look at Nathan. Curled up under the covers, the child was sleeping soundly. She raised her hand to stroke his blond hair. In the firelight from the other room, she noticed her wrist, freshly bandaged.

She frowned, her mind suddenly clearer. She didn’t remember him bandaging her arm. Had she been unconscious for a long time?

Her heartbeat was pounding against her temples. Vertigo threatened her again. Someone carefully put a heavy blanket over her. Still unsure of her movements, she clumsily grabbed one of the hands tucking her in.

“Stay. Please. Just a few minutes.”

The hand flinched but didn't pull back. Her eyes locked on Nathan's serene sleeping face, she repeated in a whisper:

“Please.”

She reluctantly let go of his hand. There was a fleeting moment, then she felt something on her palm, like a solid, porous cube.

“It’s sugar,” he whispered. “Eat.”

And he sat behind her, at the edge of the bed, facing the door. Silence came back. While she was still feeling nauseous, she put the small cube on her tongue. As the sugar dissolved, her vertigo slowly disappeared, and her heart regained its normal rhythm. Her mind more and more clear with each passing second, she finally looked from behind her shoulder. Unmoving in the darkness, the hunter had his back to her. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew, from his more relaxed posture, the lack of shaking and nervous tics, that he was _better_.

She didn’t know what to make of it. The flesh of her wrist was still throbbing from time to time, as a painful reminder of what happened – an abomination, if you were to believe laws and conventions. And despite everything, the hunter’s presence behind her was still comforting. Soothing.

She lost herself in hazardous reflections when a distant roaring engine pulled her from her thoughts. A motorcycle? She waited, listening carefully, but silence came back, and memories from the evening came back with it. She gulped painfully, ill at ease.

“Are you the vampire the Militia’s looking for?”

“No.”

His answer, clear and sharp as always, comforted her more than she would have thought.

“It is… “Yuuki”?”

This time, the young man took some time to answer.

“Who?”

“Please, Kelos...Zero,” she corrected herself, hesitant of how to pronounce this foreign name. “You were whispering that name earlier, when you were asleep. You...”

She saw again in her mind the sleeping hunter, sweating, on the verge of consciousness, just before he woke up and leapt at her throat. She shuddered and whispered even lower.

“...you were begging.”

She didn’t know why, nor who was this person Kelos – _Zero_ – was pleading to in his dreams. She just remembered the hunter’s expression as he muttered that name, in a voice filled with suffering, sadness and anger.

Zero gave a small sigh.

“Yuuki is a Pureblood. My...my mistress, in a way.”

“So she’s the one who...changed you?”

During one of his visits, because she asked him about it, he had broadly explained to her the ranks between vampires. The old stories about bites weren’t totally false, but only a few of them were able to transform their victim.

“No. But she’s still...someone important. It’s hard not to obey her.”

Elora tensed up.

“Is it her who sent you here tonight?”

“No. She doesn’t know you exist, and it’s better this way. I came to you of my own free will...”

Elora felt tears coming up.

“...we both needed blood,” Zero added, in an even lower tone. “I’m sorry.”

She stiffened to swallow back a nervous sob and quickly wiped tears pearling on her cheek. Other images came back to her: Zero's chest, covered in claw marks, the horrible, bloody slash on his back...

“Is she the one who hurt you?”

“...yes.”

“Because she was...thirsty?”

“...in a way. She doesn’t stand this dependence very well. She tries to live without human blood. She’s strong, but she lost control against the militiamen. I intervened. I knew what to expect.”

She clenched her fists and was surprised to find herself feeling a violent resentment toward the vampiress. Her exhaustion was almost overwhelming, and in her mind, she came to picture the stranger with the features of one of the savages who once tortured her.

“And despite everything, she expects you to come back to give her your blood?”

“I don’t think so. It would be easier for both of us, but even if I offered it...”

He left his sentence unfinished, then let out a strange sigh.

“She’s strong,” he repeated, softer. “She may not need it.”

“Is she...a friend?”

“...we grew up together, for some time.”

They quieted. In the other room, the logs were crackling gently, throwing a flickering light on Nathan’s small, serene face. As seconds passed, Elora felt her anger wash away, giving way to muffled anguish. She had always seen this man as a kind of hero, who made an oath to fight vampires. He still was...but he was also _one of them_. He belonged to a world she didn’t know, obeyed codes and urges she would never understand. With one bite, she thought she might be able to help him, but in the end, there was nothing else she could do.

Out of reach. _He was_ out of reach. He had always been, for all these years. And to finally realize it left her weak, bereft and afraid...

She shook her head, frightened by such thoughts. She had to rest. Tomorrow would be another day...

Silently, she wrapped her arms around her son. Though he was asleep, the child responded to her embrace by nestling closer against her and sighing with contentment. As it often did, feeling this cherished presence, innocent and unharmed, soothed her. Despite the lump in her throat, despite everything, she smiled in the darkness.

“You can stay here until dawn,” she finally whispered. “With the Militia on the lookout, streets aren’t safe for you.”

The hunter moved slightly, and she was persuaded that he was looking at her over his shoulder. Knowing her weakness, she struggled to not do the same. She had been clear earlier: once his thirst was quenched, he had to get out of her life.

“Thank you. I wish things could have been different, Elora.”

As always, his tone was neutral when he whispered his farewell. Her eyes on Nathan’s short blonde hair, Elora couldn’t answer. She heard the hunter stand up and walk away to the door. On the wall facing her, she saw his shadow on the bright rectangle of the firelight. Her heart leapt in her chest, and words escaped her.

“Kelos!”

The silhouette on the wall stopped, expectant.

“...My husband. Could I... Could I have helped him? Like I did with you?”

She saw the shadow shudder. Then the hunter’s voice rose behind her, still terribly detached.

“Your husband was a future Level E. A human being transformed, bitten months or years ago by a Pureblood. He didn’t have access to his master’s blood to stop the process. It was driving him insane, and there was nothing you could have done. It could have only ended up like this.”

Like every time she asked him something about the difficult subject that was her husband, his words were harsh, his speech straightforward. He never tried to spare her when she looked for answers. Despite her sorrow, she was grateful for this.

It was her husband who, driven by his instincts, committed the unforgivable. And yet, she had always felt guilty about it.

“Farewell, Kelos. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

The silhouette on the wall seemed to bow slightly.

“Farewell, Elora.”

The door closed, the golden rectangle disappeared. Silence and darkness fell in the room again.

After several long seconds, her entire body stiffened, unable to hold back her silent tears any longer. Despite her efforts to stay silent, she felt Nathan move.

“Mommy...you’re crying.”

A small sob escaped her and, tightening her embrace, she kissed the child’s head. He didn’t say the words as a question, simply a serene affirmation.

“Yes, dear...”

Nathan curled up against her and hugged her with his small arms like she usually did with him. Though she never hid it when she was sad or worried, it was the first time he saw her crying.

“Cry, mommy. I’m here. You’ll feel better after.”

She recognized her own words, in the clear and soothing voice of her little boy. Torn between pride and undefinable sorrow, she kissed him one last time, then let her tears fall.

.

.

Leaning against the door, Zero had closed his eyes to put his thoughts together. When he heard muffled sobs in the other room, he clenched his fists. For a while, he considered leaving the house right away, to put the most distance between him and the hateful act he had just committed for his own survival. But to his now-heightened senses, a distant clamour told him Lisenthard was marching on to war, as revenge-hungry militiamen patrolled relentlessly. He couldn’t risk going outside, even less so after Elora’s sacrifice.

Heavily, he went to sit back near the hearth, and his eyes got lost in the flames. A kind of physical torpor had replaced the extreme tension that had possessed him for hours, but his mind, on the other hand, had become terrifyingly clear. Like each time he gave in to quench his thirst...

Was it the same for Yuuki?

Attentively, he tried to scan the unknown bond between them, this invisible chain that had made him feel what Yuuki felt since the beginning of the night. It was such a new, abstract concept he still had trouble believing it. And yet...

After a few seconds, he had to face the fact: the burning, blind thirst was still present, though more distant and clearly alien to him. Yet it seemed to lessen slowly, and, probably because he himself was _sated_ , this distant blaze wasn’t enough to awaken his own hunger anymore. Zero didn’t know if he should feel relieved.

Elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands, he tried for a few minutes to rekindle this communication that had made him feel Yuuki’s visceral fear, her urge to kill, her unquenchable thirst. At times, it had been so intense, so depersonalizing, that he could have sworn that the Pureblood was beside him, screaming with anguish and desire. Instinctively, unsure of how to do it, he tried to share his own calmness, this mental and physical serenity given to him by Elora’s blood.

But the Pureblood’s presence seemed to slip through his fingers, and to his senses, previously muffled by Yuuki’s silent screams, there was only deep silence.

She was alive, he could have sworn it, without being able to say how he was so sure. Alive, yes, but...distant.

Resigned. _Vanquished_...

A dark, bottomless pit seemed to engulf everything, including this blaze-like thirst. Suddenly panicking, he opened his eyes, looked with surprise at his unchanged surroundings. His heart was pounding in his chest, and it took him some time to calm down. Had he fallen asleep?

Within him, the strange and uneasy feeling remained, diaphanous, evanescent, like Yuuki’s presence, evermore further away. He saw her again, proud and radiant with anger under the moon, the only one standing amidst a massacre.

Yuuki, in tears, who in a moment of lucidity, begged him to shoot her.

Yuuki, covered in her victims’ blood, somewhere safe in Listenthard undergrounds.

Dawn would break in a few hours, and with it the end of the curfew. Life would start again in Lisenthard, and then he would be able to mingle with the crowd, go back to his companion. To soothe her thirst completely by giving her his blood – or, at least, offer it to her. She who clung desperately to her faithfulness to Kaname, would she agree to taste it?

Indecisive, he slid his hand into his pocket and brought the necklace so precious to Yuuki up to the firelight. Trapped in its amber coat, the tiny iridescent crystal shone softly. Its origin left Zero pensive, torn between some pity and a vague aversion. Yet, he carefully cleaned the bloodstains off the pendant.

In her furious state, she had probably dropped it at the carnage scene, and Zero had instinctively picked it up before running away. In the catacombs, he didn’t dare throw it to the Pureblood, fearing that, in her madness, she would put it to ill-use. And as he knew how important this crystal was to Yuuki, he couldn’t bring himself to give it up to her...She would have to face enough disturbing truths once she came back to her senses.

Like the inconceivable, but lifesaving fact that she, a Pureblood, had been shortly manipulated by a mere liegeman like himself.

Her desire to die. Her will, clearly stated, to be executed by him.

The square covered in bloody corpses, organs torn to shreds, torn limbs...at least ten human beings. Murdered.

Now that the vampire in him was sated, the picture only made him feel briefly nauseous. The Bloody Rose on the armrest, the pendant clenched in his right hand, Zero whispered, both for himself and for the Pureblood.

“...don’t give up.”

.

.

.

.

“ _Don’t give up...”_

Yori put down her pen, drew a long and hesitant breath. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked as the real world came back to her.

The small, book-filled room, lit by her desk-light. The whisper of the rain on the tiled roof, muffled by the distant rumbling thunder. Cold seeping in through a window she had left open to the gathering dusk.

Solitary, a remnant of the past, the masculine presence beside her faded slowly, like a friendly hand on her shoulder who would disappear, leaving its warm print fading away. She closed her eyes and struggled to not shed any more tears, filled with a harrowing loneliness: had she been able to, she would have grabbed this hand and hid between those powerful arms to soothe herself and this other, so alone, so resigned to his fate.

A loneliness which wasn’t really hers, like all those memories and the feelings they embodied. She waited, shivering, for everything to disappear into the depths of her unconsciousness.

When she could open her eyes again, the silence in her head was both comforting and unbearable. She sniffled, then wiped her tears quickly.

“Thank you, Zero-kun. Thank you.”

There was no answer. _He_ was already gone.

She closed the heavy tome, crossed her arms over the leather-bound cover and put her forehead on her wrists. And, softly, she whimpered for a few minutes.

It was done. That horrible night in Lisenthard...it was done. But so many others were ahead, memories like this one, so bitter, so violent...would she be able to do it?

The rolling of thunder finally took her out of her torpor. Heavy-hearted, she gathered the tomes and sketchbooks littered on her desk and all around it, and put everything on a relatively empty shelf. With a diaphanous smile, she added Elora’s file, stamped with the Association seal.

Until the next Lisenthard episode...much, so much later...

Without warning, memories flooded her again, dark and frantic, too foreign, too distant in time for her to handle them correctly. As if she opened the last chapter of an unknown book, she was filled with an intense feeling of regret and rejection...

Not right now. Not yet...

Nauseous, she went back to her desk and forced herself to nibble on one of the biscuits she'd brought earlier. Then, putting away her pens, she walked to the small camp bed which had become her resting place when Aidou wasn't there. She pushed away some books and a bunch of old photographs and, with an exhausted sigh, sat among the covers. She took off her platinum wedding ring and, holding it clenched in her joined hands, worked on steadying her breath.

Peace of mind came back slowly as she finally swallowed the last mouthful of her biscuit. The sugar cleared her mind, chasing away the images nagging her with surprising facility. She wasn’t going to complain.

She looked dreamily at the wedding ring in the inside of her palm. In the darkness, she smiled faintly. Like an echo to her emotions, a tired voice whispered in her ear from the depths of her memory. A distant confession that wasn’t addressed to her. Still, her heart felt heavy with a strange mixture of tenderness and culpability.

An autumn evening. A flickering sun. A fresh breeze in her hair.

A silent presence by her side. A whisper...

“ _You’re here. You’ve always been here. Even after everything I’ve done. Even as everything crumbles around me. Even when this strange love must be too heavy to carry...you’re here...my friend...”_

Yori's smile broadened before she firmly pushed away the memory, tears in her eyes.

“Not now, Yuuki,” she repeated out loud. “One thing at a time, please.”

The reminiscence vanished into nothingness, but not the timeless truth it embodied. A truth that Yori, too, knew well.

To love and be loved. When you were lucky enough to know such a fate, then everything was possible...often for the best. And for the worst, too, when you had to give it away.

A shadow suddenly brushed past her. Yori shuddered, pulled out of her lethargy. In a corner of her mind, Yuuki seemed to whisper, in a saddened but relieved voice.

“ _Kaname.”_

Yori rose up on her bed, listening carefully. But nothing else came. As soon as she felt it, _her_ presence had gone. She took a deep breath, carefully, then put her wedding ring back on, her hand held close to her, like a talisman that the ring had almost become through the years.

Out of them all, the Pureblood was the only one from whom she had no personal memory. And yet he seemed to roam behind every page, every image, everywhere. Yuuki, in her memories, was prone to sharing details from her past life with him. Kaien had worked alongside him for a long time as well. Even Zero had kept a few impressions – most of them very negative – from his encounters with the Pureblood. She wondered, incidentally, was it because of the hunter that Yori felt so cautious regarding him? Or was it because she had no memory belonging to Kaname, forever lost since his death? For she who had fought for years against this flow of invasive images, this absence was...disconcerting, to say the least.

Yori relaxed slowly, yet still frowning in the growing darkness. No, neither Zero nor her gift were the reason behind this uncertainty toward Kaname; in truth, she had never been able to pin him down. Way back when she was a teenager, she already found his character to be a complex and sombre one. Inscrutable. The complete opposite of Yuuki, all talk and radiance.

Back then, her friend’s fascination with Kaname had appeared to her as strangely understandable...but also particularly disturbing. The perfect illustration of the saying “opposites attract”.

To know the truth about vampires – about Kaname, and Yuuki – didn’t make her uneasiness go away. And, years later, having access to Yuuki’s memory and what she knew about Kaname only increased her cautiousness. Yet, if Yuuki had survived for so long in this merciless Night World, it was thanks to him. Kaname had done so much out of affection for her...

Many things. Good and bad, too.

“ _The situation’s becoming too unstable. I will keep Yuuki away from political life for some time.”_

“ _Do you think she’ll agree to take a break?”_

“ _...she probably won’t even notice, but she will not have a choice.”_

The memory slipped through her fingers, evanescent and traitorous, like a chaotic dream you try to remember in the morning. Shuddering, Yori wrapped herself in a thick blanket and tried to focus. While Zero and Yuuki’s memories had become familiar enough to become a part of her – for better or for worse – the few that came from others were still foreign to her, too unclear, too vague. Yet she had to explore them in detail, to try to get an overall view. It would be the price to pay to understand what happened during those troubled times...

A few months after what the media had called the “Revelation Day”, Kaname Kuran had met Kaien Kurosu in the highest degree of secrecy. Now, what had they talked about? The memory was in shreds. Was it because of Kaname’s presence?

“ _Thank you for arranging this meeting, Kaien. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”_

The pureblood’s tone was neutral, stiff. She stopped herself from shuddering when, barely sketched through the meanderings of memory, his haughty gaze stopped on her, almost accusatory. As if, inexplicably, Kaname knew she was listening.

“ _You did it for Yuuki, Kaname.”_

Kaien Kurosu’s familiar voice didn’t comfort her, as he sounded reticent, but resigned.

“ _I know we both want the same thing, for her to be safe from harm...”_

The memory was escaping her, again and again, more elusive than a breath of wind. Yori opened her eyes and almost gave up. At the foot of the bed, among the pile of photographs and familiar faces – human and vampire alike – her gaze stopped on an old picture.

A blonde and a brunette, proudly showing off their middle school diplomas, were posing before the huge wrought iron portal of the Academy, in their brand-new black uniforms.

Yori fidgeted pensively with her left sleeve, a lump in her throat. There were so many other memories, less unpleasant – some of them even happy – which begged to be written through her pen. But this discussion had been about Yuuki’s protection, she was sure of it. And this reason alone made it worth insisting.

Crossed-legged in the middle of the mattress, her back straight, Yori stared at the dark night through the open window, listening to the rain falling on the gravel in the courtyard. That night, she was almost certain that rain was also pouring down on the Hunter Association Headquarters.

She closed her eyes, let the storm engulf her. Lightning slashed the room with a crude white light, followed by a distant rumble echoing inside her. A roaring engine followed, muffled. She knew the courtyard was empty but thought nothing of it.

She drew a deep breath and opened her senses to the memory, finally within her reach.

“ _This is just the beginning.”_

Kaien Kurosu’s pensive voice seemed to whisper in her ear, strangely close. That night, too, the former Academy founder, now Head of the Association, had hesitated for a long time on this thorny issue...

To protect Yuuki, how far could one follow Kaname Kuran?

.

.

.

.

The truck had been idling for a few minutes now, as if already ready to leave as quickly as possible. One of the hunters loaded the last crate, marked with the Association crest, then closed the doors violently before running to the front of the vehicle, already drenched by the pouring rain. He jumped on the passenger seat, and the truck almost immediately started. The only carriage door creaked open as it crossed the courtyard. A watchman in his sentry box gestured at the two men in the truck, then the vehicle entered the alley, turned with difficulty and disappeared. The carriage doors closed, and quiet silence came back to the courtyard of the Hunter Association Headquarters.

From a small study room on the third floor, Kaien Kurosu had watched everything. Yet this load wasn’t anything special, especially during the last few days. Ever since the Revelation, a few months earlier, all Association branches in the entire world had been drastically busier. Orders came from everywhere: functional weapons, parts, all kinds of ammunition, metal ore from the Founder Forge, meant to be worked and transformed by the best gunsmiths. The wider Hunter community was frantic, like a discreet but unmistakable echo of the agitation of the human world.

An agitation which could, at any moment, throw their two worlds into the chaos of a civil war – or even worse. In every country, the humans had the military means to attack vampires. As for the latter, they rarely showed restraint when their power was questioned, as proven by the few times their existence had been revealed in the past. As keepers of the Night Law, the hunters were preparing for the worst.

As current President of the Headquarters as well as Honorary Guardian of the Founder Forge, Kaien Kurosu hoped that his fellow hunters abroad kept their minds clear and that they received their goods as carefully as they had been sent. A few groups of humans had heard about the superiority of metals from the Forge when it came to fighting vampires, and some of them had already tried to get some. But, because of their efficiency, only sworn hunters were authorized to handle these items, made from an alloy which was strictly kept secret.

Kaien knew that no one, human or vampire, could reproduce such ore, since its powers didn't come from the alloy but from the Forge itself. Yet, with this turmoil, he feared the day when official weapons and ammunition would find themselves on the black market. In inexperienced or malevolent hands, they would be vastly more dangerous.

He came back to his desk, where his subordinates’ report still waited, as well as snippets of human newspapers and snapshots from amateur videos. They all proved his worst fears true.

The world was on a slippery slope. The vampire Senate and the Hunter Association council had decided to stay put, watching, limiting themselves to punishing their charge if they committed any crime. As if doing nothing could smother the fire smouldering under the ashes. Some advisers seemed to still believe it...

In his two hundred years of existence, Kaien never had so many reasons to be pessimistic. As if looking instinctively for a comforting friend, he put his hand on the guard of his anti-vampire sword, which never left his hip recently. He sighed.

“This is only the beginning...”

“And the Pact is more important than ever.”

The President barely flinched when he heard this familiar voice. His grip tightened on his sword, and he said out loud what he had never said before his subordinates, unwilling to worry them even more.

“ _Fœdus_ _Aurorae_ isn’t ready. Humanity isn’t either. It’s too soon.”

“Just like the vampire world wasn’t ready to reveal itself when the “Night Class” project was created, or when the first Blood Tablets were finalized. Evolution doesn’t wait. You have to climb on the bandwagon.”

Kaien shook his head. Slowly, he turned to the window. Where he stood a moment earlier, there was now a tall, dark silhouette, looking outside.

“I wish I could be as optimistic as you are, Kaname.”

“It is but pragmatism. I don’t have a choice. No one does now.”

The Pureblood glanced at him. His irises shone in the darkness, a crimson colour barely more intense than usual, which didn’t fool the former hunter. His enhanced senses easily picked up the metallic scent surrounding the vampire – blood, freshly spilled.

“So? This...discussion?” he asked anyway.

Kaname nodded gracefully and had an icy smile.

“Fruitful.”

The vampire noticed the hunter's suspicious gaze on the sleeve of the white shirt peeking out of his coat. It was stained in red, but, as its smell proved, it clearly wasn't Kaname's blood.

“Did you really have to hurt him?”

“He will get over it, and you know it. Besides, it only made him more attentive.”

Kaien bit back a curse and was ready to storm out of the room.

“I have to see him.”

“I gave him my blood. He’s unconscious for now. There’s nothing else that you can do.”

The hunter stilled, stunned, before looking accusingly back at the impassive vampire.

“It was necessary,” he pursued. “He will wake up tomorrow, in your main study, without any memory of it. I’m counting on you to play along.”

“Why be so secretive, Kaname?”

"It was the only way to make sure of his obedience when the time comes."

Kaien summoned all his willpower to not go any further. He had promised he would ask no questions and give no counter-advice, although it was hard for him. The stakes were too high...and if he withdrew his faith in Kaname Kuran, his most powerful ally, then he couldn’t trust anyone in these dark days.

The veteran hunter sighed resignedly. Back in the small, enclosed world of the Academy, Kaname showed such behaviour, both manipulative and inflexible, yet natural and vital for building his grip on the Night Class and his subordinates. For him to act differently outside the school walls would have been surprising.

“Thank you for arranging this meeting, Kaien. I know it hasn’t been easy for you.”

Kaname’s inflexible, almost icy tone had softened. Kaien wasn’t buying it, and yet he restrained his resentment.

“You did it for Yuuki, Kaname. I know we both want the same thing; for her to be safe from harm. But I have to admit that I find your methods quite extreme, like before.”

In the darkness, he thought he saw Kaname’s bitter smile broaden. Wordlessly, the Pureblood approached the table and looked down at the mosaic of press cuttings and pictures, each more worrying and sensationalist than the other.

“The situation’s becoming too unstable. I will keep Yuuki away from political life for some time.”

Kaien frowned, ultimately not very surprised by this decision. Kaname had kept Yuuki away from the Night World during the three years following her transformation. When the two Purebloods had officially reappeared, the young woman had been more than up to the task when facing her kin, a sign that Kaname's teaching had been fruitful. Yet, you couldn't deny the truth: Yuuki, at twenty years old, had lived most of her life away from the Pureblood reality and hadn't yet acquired the life-saving, concealed wariness she should have in public.

“It seems wiser, indeed. But she looked like she took her Pureblood Princess role to heart. Do you think she’ll agree to take a break?”

“...She probably won’t even notice, but I won’t give her a choice. Anyway, I know how much this atmosphere takes its toll on her. She now shows quite a finesse in diplomacy, like her mother before her, and her charm makes up for her inexperience. But she isn’t as resilient as me when she has to face social events night after night. It’s hard for her to look unfaltering.”

Kaname grabbed a news cutting, turned it in his slender fingers without really reading it, before putting it back, empty-eyed.

“Like a butterfly out of its cocoon too soon...she’s still so young.”

Kaien restrained a nervous shudder. Was it hesitation he read on this usually serene face?

“Your world has become more dangerous since humans learnt of your existence. But you’re here, Kaname. To protect her, to guide her.”

Immediately, Kaname’s hesitant expression disappeared, and his gaze became piercing.

“Indeed. And I have to be prepared for any eventualities.”

The Pureblood slid his hand in the inside his coat, and carefully put something down on the table, pushed it toward Kaien. A very small leather satchel, closed by a platinum buckle.

"I entrust this to you. Keep it safe. When the time comes, you will know what to do with it."

Kaien grabbed the satchel, and looked at Kaname in puzzlement. The Pureblood simply nodded. On his invitation, the hunter lifted the leather lid. A bolt of lightning outside the window illuminated a crystal vial, filled with an evocative crimson liquid.

Kaien had studied and known Aristocrats and Purebloods for a long time, and his eyes widened when he realized what it meant. It was Kaname’s blood, filled with energy and memories, ready to cross time and centuries if necessary. The vial, sealed, probably couldn’t be opened by anyone but a chosen vampire, to whom this sip of blood, filled with power and knowledge, was destined.

“But...what are you preparing for, Kaname?”

“The worst, and it is my duty to do so. Yuuki may one day find herself alone against the other Pureblood families. There is no way I would leave her resourceless in this lion's den.”

Kaien carefully put back the vial in its satchel, unable to stand its sight any longer, and left it on the table between them.

“Kaname, hard times are ahead, but not to the point that a Pureblood as powerful as you may feel threatened. Do you know something I don’t?” he growled, gesturing nervously at the mess of press cuttings. “You know who’s behind this chaos, and you forgot to tell me?”

Kaname didn’t answer, but Kaien knew him well enough to see the slight ounce of impatience in those inscrutable pupils. The hunter clenched his fists, certain that he was right.

The secret of the existence of vampires had been carefully kept, way before the creation of the Senate or the Association. While, in history, there had been many cases like this, it had rarely involved more than a dozen people. Through the last century, protocols and interventions had become well-oiled, methodical. The humans in question had their memory wiped out and could go back to their life without any after-effects, most of the time. The wounds and deaths the hunters couldn't prevent were disguised as accidents or crimes; the stained crime scenes were sealed, destroyed or burnt. The medical and police reports were falsified.

Such was the Association: a gigantic, perfectly-oiled machine, timeless, everywhere and invisible, just like the vampires they had to watch and, if needed, punish.

But in the space of a few weeks, the most well-guarded secret of their era had been blown to pieces without warning. Humans without any link to one another, across the globe, had suddenly started to ask disturbing questions. In the most developed countries, where communications were harder to control, rumours as frightening as they were believable had spread like wildfire. Files, pictures and even records one thought destroyed were suddenly in the wrong hands – too often the media. Scientists and conspiracy theorists, until then too few or too isolated to be of any importance, suddenly could collaborate and make their questions heard. Witnesses thought to have been silenced had reappeared, as well as others no one had heard about, eager to tell their stories about an invisible and latent fight, already lost by humankind.

A war, or rather a silent and horrifying exploitation of the human race, under the command of an obscure Senate and a “brotherhood” of privileged humans, the hunters.

Everything unfurled quickly, too quickly. Before either the Senate or the Association could react, the human world, swiped by an unstoppable tide, incredibly precise, had discovered the existence of vampires. To the alert eyes, like Kaien and Kaname’s, such a succession of events couldn’t be random: someone had noted, stealthily, methodically, every flaw left by the authorities through the past years. Someone had been able to exploit every inch of proof, preserve each harmless-looking clue, like perfectly aligned dominoes...

...before ultimately flicking the one which would make every other fall, taking with them the wall of ignorance separating the two worlds.

Someone _...But who?_

Kaien stared at Kaname, expectant. Only a few days after the “Revelation”, they agreed to both investigate within their respective circles, looking for information that could lead to a potential perpetrator of this chaotic situation.

The Pureblood finally answered his mute question with a whisper.

“For now, I only know their code name; Anthea.”

Kaien instinctively tightened his grip on his sword. The name, brought out from the past, yet familiar for both of them, seemed to echo in the silent room.

“Anthéa...Like _her_?” whispered Kaien, reflexively.

Kaname’s gaze, suddenly defiant, exceptionally evasive, was enough to convince him.

“You can count people who officially know her name on one hand. Yet it can’t be a coincidence. What does it mean, Kaname? That they have contacts in the Association Council? That they know who you really are? That they’re threatening us?”

The Pureblood shrugged.

“They are either powerful or stupid enough to think it would be useful to send us their message, whatever it may be. According to the virtuosity with which they broke a ten-thousand-year-old secret, I chose to believe the former.”

“But why create such a revolution? Why now?”

Only rolling thunder answered him, stronger than ever. Kaien crossed his arms, his mind boiling after this meagre revelation. His investigation had reached a dead-end the past few weeks, but with these elements, new perspectives opened to him, as numerous as they were worrying.

“You understand now why I want to keep Yuuki away first and foremost. Her safety is my greatest priority. But if, one day, I am not able to protect her anymore, I want you to take over.”

Kaien silently nodded. He looked at the small satchel on the table.

“I suppose she doesn’t know about your projects?”

Kaname didn’t answer, but his gaze was more than evocative. Kaien grabbed the satchel, then, after one last hesitation, put it in the inner pocket of his vest.

“It’s like nothing has changed since the Academy,” he sighed. “But I swear to you, Kaname, I will keep this vial safe. And I will give it to Yuuki if something happens to you. Which I doubt it will.”

Staring into nothingness, the Pureblood suddenly shuddered, almost flinched.

“This isn’t for Yuuki, Kaien. She’s still too young, too innocent. Given the future awaiting her if I disappear…one sip of my blood wouldn’t bring her anything. By the way, she must never learn about this vial.”

The hunter stared at him, dumbfounded.

“But then...what do you want from me? My position at the Association prevents me from openly supporting Yuuki. I won’t be able to stand for her forever.”

Kaien abhorred his own words, but it was the harsh truth. And quitting his job as President was a bad idea as well since it meant cutting himself from his best assets among the Association. How could he protect Yuuki then?

Kaname went back to the window and stayed silent for a long while. Then he smiled, a strange smile filled with a sadness Kaien had never seen in him.

“If she loses me, Yuuki will look for the only ones she can trust. If she doesn’t come to you, Kaien, then you will only find her with one other person.”

And, with these words, Kaname’s gaze became more bitter than ever, shining crimson.

“He will be the only one who can protect her. When the time comes, I want you to give this vial to Zero Kiryu.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaname...for a dead guy, he sure shows up a lot. What is he up to this time? Any theories? (I've been trying to solve them myself, but no luck so far)


	17. Chapter Ten: Helplessly- Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits for audio: https://youtu.be/6ljegvS94qE

_N.B :_

_In this chapter, mostly written in February 2016, there is a mention of a vampire child drinking from her parent’s wrist. The question of child vampires’ thirst has never been cleared up in the original manga. My beta-reader, SilverPhantomD noted something in volume 6 saying that vampire children don’t need blood until their fangs have “matured enough” and feed on “vital energy”... but this idea, to us, looked_ _unclear, strange and even quite disappointing._

 _Therefore, let’s venture that in BCC, child vampires also need blood. Since they can’t use their fangs until they’re old enough – teenagers, maybe –, I decided that it was their parents’ role to soothe their thirst by giving them blood. An act I describe here made_ _out of_ _by love and tenderness, since it prepares the child to understand the different emotions caused by their bites and blood-drinking_ _in their partners o_ _nce they’re adults, the same way a human child needs their parents to be comforted and to be prepared to human bonds._

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Sitting at the back of a car with tinted windows, Kaien Kurosu watched the militiamen come and go. Sounds of roaring motorcycles, boots clacking and dogs barking were everywhere. Because of the late hour and the local curfew, he initially thought he would find the streets empty, allowing him to investigate peacefully.

But, to his surprise, Lisenthard was literally under siege. And the rumours he heard here and there weren’t reassuring: a vampire had committed a massacre. Maybe the most horrible in the history of the small harbour ever since the existence of the Night creatures had been revealed.

A vampire...or, rather, a vampiress, if the last radio call of one of the murdered men was to be believed, warning his superiors before ending the conversation. Since then, the Militia was on maximum alert, and the hunt would probably carry on all night. If the one responsible was found, the hunter feared the worst. For the prey, and for her pursuers.

Because they may be numerous, but most of them were novices when it came to the hunt. And this vampiress could be...

He stopped his train of thoughts, feeling that an intruder had just invaded his personal space. Indistinctively, he put his hand on the sabre on the seat near him, but calmed down almost immediately when he recognized the aura of the newcomer. The following second, someone opened the car door and sat on the other seat. For a short while, the ruckus in the street became louder, then the door snapped shut, and silence came back.

“Our diversion worked,” Kaien whispered, still watching the agitation outside. “The Militiamen heard your gunshots and followed your trail North. They shouldn’t come across any other vampire tonight.”

The newcomer simply muttered his agreement.

“Perfect. With their non-existent formation and their nervousness, they would have run into another massacre.”

He took a gun from its holster, loading the barrel with a few precise, quick gestures.

“I located Zero. He’s wounded but safe for the night. He shouldn’t move until dawn.”

Kaien briefly closed his eyes behind his small glasses, relieved. Zero was a hunter, as skilled as he was careful, but he was also a vampire, wounded moreover. His weakness could betray him, and the veteran easily pictured the militiamen’s reaction if they met Zero’s crimson gaze. Enough blood had already been spilled tonight.

“Have you been able to contact him?” he carried on with the same neutral tone.

“Better not. He’s with Elora Dunham.”

“Dunham the Butcher’s niece? She knows about the Association since the town hall case. What’s keeping you from...”

“What do you think a cornered vampire would do in the house of a human who completely trusts him?”

Kaien turned to his colleague and friend, surprised by his suddenly sharp tone. The one-eyed man simply glanced at him before scowling and searching his pockets for a cigarette. After a short silence, the former Academy Headmaster drew a surprised breath.

“Oh. I didn’t know they shared that kind of... _relationship_. To be honest, I thought she didn’t even know about his vampire nature. I believed that Zero wanted to keep it a secret.”

Yagari rolled his single eye.

“Yeah. Me too. Anyway, what matters the most is that Zero does what he has to do to survive.”

Kaien heard an ounce of disapproval in his companion’s sharp tone, seemingly indifferent. The master was surely worried about his student, he thought, but the idea of Zero drinking from a – consenting – civilian’s neck still had to be a disturbing one.

“Yuuki wasn’t with him, but she can’t be far,” Yagari pursued, to cut short any follow-up. “I heard that a vampire woman was behind this clusterfuck. Do you think she could have...”

Seeing Kaien’s sombre expression, he didn’t carry on his thought. Silent, his companion put on his leather gloves and adjusted the sabre on his belt.

"What I think is that we can't walk around incognito like we intended to," Kaien whispered. "I advise we help the Militia for a time, to learn what they know and assess the damage. If I find Yuuki's trail, I'll slip away to follow and erase it. I'm counting on you to distract the militiamen. I don't know what state she'll be in when I find her, and I absolutely must not be followed. There have been enough deaths tonight."

“You don’t need to ask. But watch out. Zero thought it necessary to lock her up in the catacombs, and she’s not the human kid you raised anymore, Kaien.”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

Kaien put his hand to his lapel, deep in thought. Despite the numerous layers of warm clothes, he almost felt the small leather satchel he always kept on him over the past few weeks. He felt uncertain for a while.

Kaname had been adamant about the vial of blood: he had to give it to Zero if he came to disappear, without mentioning its existence to Yuuki. Why such secrecy? And why shouldn’t he give this last ounce of power to the young Pureblood, who was already in a bad spot?

And what could it have to do with Kaname’s visit to the Association Headquarters, especially on this day?

“ _He will wake up tomorrow, in your main study, without any memory of it. I’m counting on you to play along.”_

“ _Why be so secretive, Kaname?”_

_"It was the only way to make sure of his obedience when the time comes."_

With a snap of his lighter, Yagari lit his cigarette, took a long drag. Brought back from his thoughts, Kurosu Kaien crushed his last doubts. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“The Butcher infiltrated the Militia,” the one-eyed man whispered. “He’ll give us relevant intel.”

“Very well,” Kurosu Kaien whispered, putting his glasses in his pocket vest. “So let’s not waste any more time.”

In agreement, the two hunters left the car and walked into the growing darkness.

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**Chapter 10**

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_**Helplessly** _

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“Kaname...”

Standing in front of the bay window, she sighed. In the room, and on the other side of the window, it was dark, but, if she narrowed her eyes, she could almost see her shadowy reflection in the glass: her long, unkempt and dull hair, her shining ruby eyes. In the small room, her den – her _prison_ – there was a deep silence.

The thirst was devouring. In agony, she put her talon-like hands in her tangled hair, moaned interminably. An unspeakable pain pierced her skull in two. She closed her eyes, nauseous and dizzy.

“Kaname…!”

She called out to him hoarsely, again and again. Where was he? She had to find him! She needed him, she couldn’t live without him!

“Kaname, please…!”

She leaned against the window, slid to the ground, sobbing. She pounded the bay window, with her fist, her foot, her head, as she rocked herself again and again, trying to make the merciless pain go away.

“Please, come back! Come back to me…”

She had sworn to undertake the withdrawal, she had promised. She had sworn. But alone, abandoned in this malevolent place, it was so hard...She couldn’t stand it anymore! He told her he would come back long before she felt the thirst again, but it had been days of suffering, and he was still nowhere to be seen...

She opened her tear-blurred eyes, glanced here and there at some familiar white pills on the floor. Blood Tablets. But this feeble substitute for human blood had long ceased to sate her...

“ **Kaname...KANAMEEEE!”**

She screamed, and the pain between her ears multiplied, merciless. Wracked with sobs, she grabbed her hair, pulled off fistfuls of dirty tresses. Suddenly, the intense loneliness surrounding her disappeared, while numerous intruders invaded her senses, as if coming out of nowhere. A light came, blinding. Before she could react, hands closed on her shoulders, and she shrieked even louder.

“ **No! NOOOOO! Kaname!”**

She tried to identify her attackers, but a black veil fell on her face. Blind, deafened by her own screams, she kicked, struggled relentlessly. Without mercy, the hands pulled her up carelessly, like iron grips on her feverish skin. Half-carried away, half dragged, she felt herself being led to the centre of the small room.

“Let me go! Kaname, help me!”

She was thrown on the bed, held down with an iron grip. She struggled, desperate, fangs bared, deaf and blind to everything surrounding her. A needle pierced the fragile skin of her arm, and she screamed when she felt a burning, corrosive liquid suddenly running through her flesh.

“ **Kaname! Zero!”**

In a desperate jerk, she managed to free herself from the cloth blinding her, grabbed the needle and threw it away. Immediately came the hands, trying to hold her down, and she slipped out of the bed, ran to a corner of the now neon-lit room.

Her eyes hurt from so much light, she glared at the intruders. She immediately saw they were vampires in white scrubs, watchful and wary, surely knowing what she could do. She threatened them with her fangs, growling, foaming at the mouth with rage and pain, secretly terrified.

“Let me go at once! Or I won’t bet on your survival when Kaname comes back!!”

The vampires looked at each other in puzzlement but did not step back. Quick as lightning, she leapt toward the only door and struggled against the doorknob. To no avail. They locked it after their entrance. She banged at the door, beside herself.

“Let me go! I have to find him! Kaname! They want to murder him!!!!”

She didn’t know how she could be so sure, but she didn’t care about her memory losses, leaving her haggard and confused because of the thirst. Kaname was in danger, and she had to act, quickly!

“Open this door!”

She glared at the nurses still next to the bed. In a sudden flash of lucidity, she realized they were all low-cast vampires. She could not show her fear, or everything would be lost.

She straightened up as best as she could, proud despite her fear and the pain still piercing her skull.

“I am Yuuki Kuran, sister and partner of Kaname Kuran. I command you to let me go at once!”.

“No.”

Behind the vampire nurses, who remained impassive despite her order, a man – a mere human – was staring at her coldly.

“Calm down. You are pathetic and you know it.”

She stared at the intruder with stupor, before recognizing him; he was a known businessman, one of the few humans to sit on the Night Council. He couldn’t possibly ignore who she was. How dare he speak to her like this?

“This Yuuki you’re talking about disappeared years ago. You’re not her, you’re not a Pureblood.”

She shuddered, suddenly weak at the knees. She finally recognized the man, not only because she’d already seen him speaking with Kaname, but first and foremost because he was the father of her human best friend. It was Saito Wakaba. Yori Wakaba’s father.

Yori! Where was she, by the way? She was in danger, too!?

“Mister Wakaba, is Yori alright? Did Zero find her?”

“Look at me, and remember. You’re at the hospital. You had another fit.”

She held herself to the doorknob, unable to believe him. Why did he keep avoiding her questions? What did it mean about Yori, or even Kaname? She didn't understand anything. Before the unflinching gaze of the man, she held back the great dread rising in her and struggled to appear like a Pureblood should be: cold and self-controlled.

She knew it was the only way to get out of this...

“You forget yourself, Mister Wakaba. Out of fondness for your daughter, I won’t hold what you did against you. I’m not so sure about Kaname, though...but let me go at once, and I will speak in your favour.”

“Kaname Kuran is dead, just like this Yuuki you’re talking about. She corrupted you with her memories and her hatred. You’re not Yuuki. You’re Yori, and you’re my daughter. Remember.”

She almost fainted, exhausted, unable to think straight. Why was a Senate member speaking to her like this? It was surreal. Shady.

And strangely familiar. How long had this been going on?

She took her head in her hands, suddenly unable to face the icy stare of this man, treating her so coldly and with so much familiarity. No! It had to be a hallucination caused by her thirst, a nightmare, nothing more...she only needed a few more Blood Tablets, and it would disappear.

While she waited for Kaname. Or Zero...he swore he would help her...

“Goddammit, look at yourself.”

She opened her eyes, looked for the Blood Tablets she had angrily thrown away earlier in the day. But the wooden floor had gone, and on the white plastic floor a few colourful pills were scattered, whose name she didn’t know. She looked up, and then she saw the young woman behind the bay window.

Her blonde, tangled, dirty hair waving down her trembling shoulders. Shadows beneath her crazed amber eyes. Her pale, tear-stained cheeks. Her torn nightshirt, stained with blood on the shoulder.

Yori. Curled up in a corner, on the ground, she was a sorry sight.

“Yori-chan? You’re here? Oh, what have they done to you? I’m so sorry, I...”

She stopped, surprised to hear the voice the walls echoed to her, this familiar voice that wasn’t hers. Her best friend’s lips had moved at the same time, mimicking her own hoarse whispers. She got up with difficulty, astonished, and walked to the glass. Yori did the same, pale and incredulous.

The nurses closed down slowly, and she looked at them fearfully.

“Stay where you are…!”

“Look at the state that you’re in,” growled Saito Wakaba, gesturing at the window.

On the other side, Yori’s face, encircled slowly by her jailers – the _same nurses_ – reflected a sharp anguish. The young blonde woman put a shaking hand to her mouth and, at the same time, she felt her own fingers brushing her chapped lips.

And, finally, she looked down at her clothes.

Her white, scrawny limbs; her torn nightdress, unfit for a Pureblood. The copper-blond hair still stuck between her clenched fingers, laying around her, torn in fistfuls. And, before her, in the window turned mirror, the young woman with hazelnut eyes, surrounded with nurses, mortified.

She put her hand to her shoulder, and Yori made the same distraught gesture. Where her own skin was throbbing with pain, where they tried to inject an unknown poison still burning her flesh, the young woman displayed the same growing stain of blood.

“Your name is Yori. You’re my daughter. Yuuki is dead, so is Kaname. It’s been years already. You’ve been living in this lie for weeks. Take a hold of yourself.”

An inhuman hissing sound pierced her ears. Pain in her ears became unbearable, and she fell to her knees, her eyes stuck on Yori, crumpled on the other side. She shut her eyes tightly, nauseous, moaning.

Her world crumbled down. Memories filled her suddenly, too many, too strong, too unbearable. Too real. Like an explosion, a sleeping fire suddenly blazing, they torched everything in their path; her convictions, her certitudes, leaving her empty and distraught. She burst into tears.

 

Kaname...long dead? Yuuki and Zero, gone shortly after, while looking for the assassin? And herself, sole survivor?

Herself...Yori. Yori Wakaba. Writer, as of a few years. Inheritor of their memories, through a power they still couldn’t quite grasp.

“No. No…! No! Yuuki is...she’s still there, somewhere!”

She clenched her heart, still filled with the certitude that Yuuki was alive, since she _was_ Yuuki. But, in the mirror, the young scrawny blonde woman did the same, and truth rang inside her, indisputable, so violently that she felt sick. She slumped to the ground, threw up before sobbing even harder.

“Yuuki isn’t...she can’t...they can’t all be...”

And yet, and yet...memories haunted her mind, most of them foreign to her, inherited from her dearest friends. Dozens of horrifying images answering her, hammering mercilessly the appalling truth.

She fell on her side, devoid of all strength. Inside the mirror, Yori tried to stare at her, misty-eyed. She was sweating, skinny – _skin and bones_.

She _was_ Yori. She was _only_ Yori. Weak, powerless. Survivor. And **alone**.

She closed her eyes, and for a short while, prayed desperately to die. Here. Now. Please, make everything stop...

When two nurses carefully approached to help her get up, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Her shoulder aching, her eyelids heavy, she forced herself to meet the grey-suited man’s worried and disapproving stare.

Saito Wakaba. _Her_ father...

“You’ve been given a sedative, Yori. I beg you, for your mother’s love, this has to end. You have to forget this Yuuki.”

He gestured strangely at the walls, torn between disdain and pure incomprehension.

“I didn’t know her personally. But if she really was your friend, I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted you to hurt yourself so much.”

Exhausted, Yori looked up, panting, then widened her eyes, finally aware of her surroundings.

The white walls were covered with reddish writing. She recognized words, places, familiar names. Her own writing. And, in an anguished whimper, she remembered...

The day before, they took away all her notes, her paper, her sketches. Her pens and pencils, to stop her from writing what was gnawing at her. Never mind, she had carried on writing down her memories.

On the walls of her hospital room. With her own blood.

She closed her eyes before this dark vision, froze entirely in an unstoppable whimper. Her moan came out, pitiful.

“I can’t...I just can’t! Everything swirls in my head, I have to write it. Or I’ll go insane.”

“You already are, Yori. Because you tried to remember. But it was too heavy a burden. They’re dead, Yori. There’s nothing else you can do.”

She burst into tears, her skull ready to explode. Devastated by grief, she felt her legs give way under her, and only the two nurses stopped her from falling. Silently, they brought her back to her bed. She curled up on it, broken in body and mind, barely conscious. She then felt her father’s hand on her uninjured shoulder.

“Let the past lie. Come back to us, Yori. For your mother, I’m begging you.”

She instinctively grabbed his sleeve, and her sobs slowly quieted. She realized with surprise that she would have liked him to stay, stay beside her like he used to do, when she was ill – or was it a memory of Yuuki and her adoptive father?

But Saito Wakaba pulled away, and she felt her own hand falling, limp, on the mattress. Sleepy, feverish after her tantrum, she heard him give instructions to the medical team. New tears came to her, burning and bitter. There were now a dozen people in this room: her father, nurses, doctors, both men and women, vampires and human alike working around her. But she felt more alone than ever.

Yuuki, Yuuki...how had she managed, when all hope had gone? When no one could understand her, or even listen to her?

Suddenly accommodating, memories wormed their way through her numbed mind – the understanding smile of a brown-haired high-schooler, the amethyst eyes of a sullen but considerate teenager, the kind expression of a young Pureblood – and she felt her heart become lighter for a moment. Reality was so dark now, and her delirium sometimes so soft…

The door opened, and her eyes mechanically followed her father. And her breath was taken away, her thoughts frozen. Her eyes widened.

From the corridor, a few people were watching her in despair. A fifty-something copper-blonde haired woman, clenching a handkerchief in her hands. When the grey-suited man put his arm around her shoulders and took her away, she didn’t protest, her swollen eyes filled with tears. Yori Wakaba’s mother.

There were also acquaintances of the family. A few doctors. And three other vampires, looking grim, whom she would have known anywhere. Akatsuki Kain, Ruka Souen, and Hanabusa Aido. Kaname’s lieutenants, his most faithful followers since the Academy.

Her heart almost stopped for a moment, before pounding again, furious. She straightened up on her bed. Quick, time was of the essence!

“Kaname’s in danger! They want to murder him, you have to protect him! Find Zero, he’ll know what to do!”

The three vampires shuddered, surprised. Mindless of the nurses already grabbing her, she screamed even louder.

“Tell him that I love him, that I’ll always wait for him! Don’t worry about me, but please, find Kaname, and save him!”

She was pinned down to the mattress, and she weakly struggled when another needle pierced the soft skin of her shoulder. Mindless of Mrs Wakaba’s tears, her husband’s furious scowl, she looked into the eyes of each of the three vampires, hoping that her Pureblood commands would be heard this time.

Kain turned away, shaking his head, and left her line of sight.

Ruka, cross-armed, pursed her perfect lips and lowered her eyelids, unable to stand her gaze, before following her companion.

And Aido, ramrod straight, staring at her wordlessly, his fists clenched. She tilted her head back on the pillow, desperately trying to stand his gaze, fighting against the horrible numbness that was filling her.

She was suddenly back at the Academy under siege, shortly after her transformation. The arrival of her uncle Rido, the fratricidal murderer of Juri and Haruka, her parents. His omnipresent threat, heavy on her young Pureblood shoulders. Zero’s painful hostility, driven half-mad by rage and hatred after Ichiru’s death. And Kaname’s no less painful defection, called to other fights outside the Academy walls.

And she remembered Hanabusa Aido as he had been that day: an Aristocrat, usually arrogant and seductive, yet indubitably faithful to Kaname. A surprisingly competent fighter, who followed her relentlessly through the Academy ruins. He risked her life several times, even against Rido, to defend her, Yuuki Kuran, a Pureblood that had come out of nowhere.

“Aido, Aido! For Kaname, for my brother! You more than anyone else, I know you’ll be faithful to him! I’m begging you, protect him!”

Aido didn’t blink, not even when a nurse passed before them to close the door. At the very last moment, he nodded. Exhausted, panting, she finally let herself go, her message delivered.

And darkness embraced her.

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_**Musing through memories,** _

_**Losing my grip in the grey.** _

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_**Numbing the senses,** _

_**I feel you slipping away.** _

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After a short silence, the raspy, veiled voice had begun again its lulling song. Pulled out of her dreams, Yori shuddered, then opened her eyes, took a deep breath and straightened up. Her headphones slid to her shoulders, and the silence of the room surrounded her.

She looked around haggardly, first wary, then slowly comforted by the walls of shelves and books surrounding her desk. Feeling stiff, she got up from her chair to carefully walk around the room, slowly breathing in the familiar smell of varnished wood, the vellum and leather-bound covers. Her stumbling walk led her to the door, and, suddenly filled with a familiar dread, she grabbed the doorknob and stood still.

What if it was locked? What if they barged in, in their white scrubs, to take away all her books, her blank pages and her manuscripts, everything that allowed her to live from her passion, but also to expiate what was gnawing at her?

What if behind this door, she found that tiny white room, that gigantic mirror? Or even the never-ending neon-lit corridor that sometimes still invaded her nightmares?

She finally shook her head, and, a lump in her throat, turned the doorknob. The door opened easily, and the corridor appeared, shrouded in soothing darkness. She walked down the corridor, barefoot on the soft and sumptuous carpet, enjoying the silence.

According to the grey light piercing between the drapes, the night was coming to an end, but dawn wasn't quite there yet. As a writer, she often burnt the midnight oil and had always enjoyed the moment before the dawn, this moment when time stood still, hesitant between heavy darkness and the comfortable calm of early morning. This moment when, tired but peaceful, she reviewed her work done, before enjoying a few hours of well-earned rest.

She went back to her den, suddenly shuddering as she remembered her nightmare, disconcerting but familiar. It had been a long time since she dreamt so clearly of _that time_...

Her internment, seven years ago. This nameless madness, when the memories finally overwhelmed her...

She clenched her fist to stop this new reminiscence: that time was over. She knew what to expect, and she was no longer alone. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

Yori closed the door of her refuge and was walking to her bedroom when she realized she was still holding the book she'd been reading before nodding off. Her eyes on the leather-bound cover, she mused for a long time before walking downstairs to the kitchen, her book under her arm.

It was the housekeeper and butler’s day off, the only servants Aido had insisted on hiring and that she learnt to tolerate with time. Just as she hoped, the two vampires had left the house before the break of day, surely to go to their house, an annex on the other side of the outgrown garden. Aido was away for family business once more, and she was alone.

Well, not completely alone, she thought as she looked at her left hand. In the pale light of morning, the platinum ring on her ring finger shone softly, like a silent oath.

She smiled faintly, comforted. This was her present, now.

The kitchen was clean and tidy, in the same old, rustic style as the rest of the house, so dear to Yori’s heart. Mechanically, she put the kettle on the fire, chose a box of black tea and filled the teapot. While the water simmered, she stared at the book on the kitchen table, then opened and began to peruse it.

She stopped on a particular passage, written no later than the night before, and of which she had few memories. She noticed with surprise something quite original: some parts of the memories were written in the first person.

Something she had strictly forbidden herself from doing, after the catastrophic failure she went through seven years ago. To write the memories haunting her, in the hope to get rid of them, was a curious art she had barely mastered, and she knew how hard and dangerous it was to write them in the first person. It had once caused her doom...

“ _ **Kaname!”**_

She blinked, gulped hard, a lump in her throat. This cry full of love and anguish, that should have been Yuuki’s, had once been uttered by her. In a frenzy, taken away by this gift – or curse – she hadn’t been able to make the difference between past and present, her memories and those of strangers...

Seven years later, the event was still sharp in her family’s consciousness. Once she got better, Yori freed herself from their overprotective influence, only after great effort and with exemplary conduct. But while she had Aido’s precious support over these past years, she had to face the fact: not writing these memories meant she couldn’t fully live her own life. Hence the need to make it a secret, kept only by her husband...

Yori bit her lip, and almost shut the book. The nagging hissing of the kettle pulled her out of her thoughts, and she put out the fire, filled the teapot and brought it to the table, along with a cup, and finally sat before the thick tome. Fearful but curious, she browsed the pages preceding the ones she just wrote.

Lisenthard, again. Zero was out of harm’s way and recovering from his wound, sheltered by Elora despite himself. But Yuuki? With a heavy heart, he had to leave her in the catacombs, alone, parched, still covered with the blood of the ones she had murdered in the Lisenthard port.

Half-mad, barely aware of her surrounding...what could a Pureblood whose sanity was abandoning her do in this dark pit she had been thrown in?

What could become of a creature thought to be near immortal, when she had given up all will to live?

Unfortunately, Yori knew it all too well. She took a sip of the burning tea to wash away the bitter taste of her own nightmare. Despite it, eager to have new contact with her closest friend, even if it was not real, she went back to her story.

Yuuki...

“Just...Show me.”

In answer to her whisper, a part of this foreign memory awoke in a corner of her mind. After a few lines, the words disappeared, ceased to exist, to become sounds, images, textures, scents and savours invading her senses, taking her elsewhere.

A familiar shadow unfurled, and Yori almost felt a hand on her shoulder, friendly, maternal. A diaphanous but sincere smile faintly appeared at the edge of her consciousness.

The hand could become brutal, the smile turn to sneer and unveil hungry fangs. The memory could escape her or worse, overwhelm her, control her. Make her forget who she was, where she was, _when_ she was.

But, trusting herself, trusting these _shadows_ that lived within her, this platinum ring at her finger reminding her of so many promises- Yori put her headphones back on, playing on repeat the song she chose earlier in the night. While the music sometimes allowed her to perfect her immersion, she rather counted on the short silence between each repeat to ease her return to real life if needed.

And, lulled by the gentle, nostalgic and languid voice, she let herself be guided.

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_**Fighting to hold on,** _

_**Clinging to just one more day** _

_**Love turns to ashes,** _

_**With all that I wish I could say.** _

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_**I'd die to be where you are.** _

_**I tried to be where you are...** _

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His powerful arms holding me tight. His breath on my neck, irregular, panting, and warm, so warm...that it’s almost burning.

His tongue on my neck, a strange caress that makes me shiver. With surprise, fear? Dread...disgust?

_...excitation?_

All these words, these notions and sensations I can’t quite name. All these feelings I find natural, then inappropriate.

He hesitates, for a few seconds. Like he always does. I know I can still push him away. That his embrace, torn between aversion and desire, cannot really hold me down. With one gesture, I can push him away, stand up and run. I am sure of it...because I trust him.

But, like each time, I remain by his side. He never asks me to; he even often ordered me to do the opposite. I am here of my own free will.

I close my eyes. On my skin, I feel the breath of an almost-inaudible rasp. I immediately tilt my head to the side. Instinctively, I hold my own breath, while my heart, despite my determination, pounds even harder.

Two painful points puncture my skin. I grit my teeth, while my still-bruised flesh is pierced without any resistance. My dread takes over momentarily, and pictures flash before my eyes. Canines out of the snowy night, threatening, parched. Canines that always haunted my nightmares, as far as I can remember.

These canines have nothing to do with the ones which, with my permission, touch me, pierce me today. While my entire survival instinct screams to jump and flee, I deliberately stay still, fully aware of what I am doing.

Yet pain makes me shiver: at a loss, I open my eyes. Around me, everything is white. But this isn’t the white of the snow, this blood-spotted snow haunting my oldest memory. Those are white tiles, shining under the light, the tiles of the bathroom we’re hiding in.

And the vampire near me isn’t a madman out of the night, who came to delightfully slaughter the little girl I no longer am. No, this isn’t an enemy.

It’s Zero...Just _Zero_. He who, I know it in my soul, would have died rather than drink from my neck. But, crushed by this vampire instinct, his last shred of resistance finally gave way...

By feeding him, I soothe him as well as I fuel the despair crushing his heart. Against me, the beast that possesses him purrs with pleasure, while he still shakes with anguish and disgust. I’m hurting him far more than he hurts me. At this thought, tears come to me, not because of the pain. Fate can be so cruel...

Briskly, hastily, the canines pull out. Surprised by the pain, I stiffen, and his hand on my back tightens a bit more. Maybe to reassure me, maybe to keep me from running away. Probably a bit of both.

His lips press on my neck. Pins and needles, then something pours through my flesh: a stream of fire runs through me, from my deepest core to his lips. In the silence, the first sip echoes, as well as a moan I couldn’t hold back. He doesn’t pay attention to it. Voracious, he only sucks harder...

Now that his lips are in contact with the blood, there is only his thirst, shutting away all the rest. I close my eyes, clenching my jaw under the still-sharp pain. My feeling was right: while Zero said the contrary, he was exhausted, eaten away by bloodlust... His brusqueness, right now, speaks for itself.

Despite the pins and needles numbing my entire shoulder, I feel a drop of blood, escaped by chance, drawing a warm trail under my shirt...

I begin to shiver, not because of fear, but deep exhaustion. I struggle to remain conscious, but I stumble and cling to him in an instinctive, desperate movement. His embrace loosens up then, imperceptibly. The hand clenched on my back relaxes, moves between my shoulder blades, while his other hand gently slides to the back of my lolling head, gets lost in my hair. He does all of this with a comforting, welcomed gentleness. Like an invite to relax, too.

Exhausted, I give in, feeling like I’m floating in the air, totally supported by him. While his thirst is not totally quenched yet, I feel him calm down. The stream of fire under his lips is softer, even numb, his breath is less ragged between each sip. It’s almost over.

I am at a loss. My instinct desperately waits for him to let me go, while my heart whispers sadly “So soon.” And my mind whispers that anyway, it’s all I can give...and all that Zero can accept.

“For now,” my survival instinct prophetizes. “For now, he can’t accept more...”

I feel my eyes burning, because of the exhaustion and because I’m holding back my tears.

“...But there will come a day when the rest won’t matter anymore.”

“The rest”, that’s what we are, what we went through and are going through right now, Zero and I. All our memories, our values, our… _feelings_. Ambiguous, blurry for me and probably for him too, but feelings all the same.

To give him my blood is the only thing I can do to help him. It’s the only way…

...But what will happen the day that Zero isn’t able to remember who I am? Who he is?

One last sip, then silence falls. Under his lips, as he slowly, regretfully, gathers the last crimson drops, my numbness remains, replaced by a slow, powerful and painful pounding. But I barely feel it. Mute, I look for Zero’s gaze. Head down, he lets me go and pulls away, two ivory fangs still visible between his lips still stained with blood. Not so long ago, he used to wipe the remains of his act hastily, disgusted. This time, he hesitates. His hand runs over his lips, then he licks the crimson stains from his fingers. In an almost-guilty gesture, empty-eyed, avoiding mine.

Wordlessly, I look down too. Each time, Zero changes a bit more. Sometimes entire weeks can go when everything seems normal. Then come the days when he's not so sure of himself, not as strong. Those days, he doesn't let me approach him, avoids me as much as he can while still doing his guardian duties. When I insist on talking to him about it, he stays silent, or snaps at me to back off before "it" happens. I never listen.

And, finally, comes the day when his thirst is too pressing, too cruel, and he locks himself up in his room, refusing to talk. That day, I can’t stand it anymore. So I skip classes, my prefect duties, my simple, ordinary life which which long ago became a lesser priority. No matter what he tells me, orders me or even screams at me, desperate, I remain there, near him, whispering that I don’t mind.

And he finally gives in. Always. Just like today. Because the struggle becomes near impossible. But also because he knows that if he lets go too late, he might not be able to stop in time.

One day, he might kill me. And I read every time, in his shadowed eyes filled with powerless rage, that he considers this possibility with horror. But I trust him, and I’d rather take the risk a hundred times than give up on him.

I’m hurting him by doing this, I’m aware of it. I hurt him a lot. I’m forcing him to accept this part of him he abhors. But, by sating the vampire, I also preserve his human consciousness from oblivion, and he can go back to his life by my side, almost as if nothing happened. Yet I know I’m only delaying the inevitable, and I make him – _us_ – guilty of an unforgivable crime. Maybe I am being selfish? Indubitably.

Zero shudders, and finally looks at me, hurt, desperate. His ruby-red irises slowly go back to their usual amethyst colour. In these moments, I know he thinks about giving up, to let go once and for all. He has this gaze that scared me so much, the day I found him with the Bloody Rose barrel on his temple, the safety off, ready to shoot.

To his mute plea, I answer silently that he has to go on whatever may come, I encourage him with all the strength of my tear-filled eyes. I don’t want him to disappear, while I know perfectly his decay is inescapable. That’s it then, I’m nothing but a selfish girl, unable to face the truth.

It’s not right for a mere human to give her blood to prolong the life of a future Level E. No matter the reason, it’s forbidden.

And it’s not right either for a future hunter like Zero Kiryu, with such ancestors, to give in like this to his vampire instincts.

But I am the only one who can help him. And I **want** to help him.

Prejudices, unsaid things loom around us, like so many Damocles swords above our heads.

Zero’s hunter master, Yagari’s accusatory gaze.

The seemingly nonchalant behaviour of Kaien Kurosu, my adoptive father, yet whose worry I can still feel.

Kaname’s cryptic and muffled enraged words, at the sight of the bandage around my neck.

When I’m with them, they all make me doubt the legitimacy of my actions. And yet here I am, alone with Zero. And as our gazes lock, speak and watch in silence, I’m only certain of one thing: I will stay.

For him. For me.

For _us_.

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Fever. Suffering. Exhaustion. Complete darkness.

Her heart was pounding slowly, heavily in her ears. Her rattling breath covered all the other sounds she could have heard.

Her heavy, numb body prevented her from moving at all. Despite this growing weakness, her own fangs were throbbing painfully. Thirst, unalterable, was choking her. Laying on the hard ground, her head on the side, she watched without flinching the bloody and silent embrace between those two beings that nothing should have united.

A few steps away, the strange couple had parted. Quickly, the vampire had wiped out the blood on his lips, then stayed still, his head in his hands. The young woman in uniform had looked at him with resignation, then stood up and finally glanced at her.

Her eyes hardened then, and she straightened her uniform, her red-stained shirt.

“ _I will stay. I will share his secret. I will be his ally, to the end.”_

The human got on her feet and faced her. Quickly, she unfurled a bewitched silver rod and stood firmly before her vampire companion. Her thoughts were running wild, awry. Desperate.

“ _To the end.”_

And the human who looked so much like her disappeared into the darkness. So did the vampire.

Yuuki stared at the nothingness for a long time, both surprised and disappointed. When had she stopped dreaming about who she _used to be_? And why did she miss it so much, all of a sudden?

Zero…

A light, feminine laugh rose up then, and a childish cry of joy seemed to answer it. Slowly, she rolled her head on the other side.

Under her, the cold hard ground seemed to soften, turn liquid. The young Pureblood let herself float on this dark and bottomless pit, her gaze lost in other visions...

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“ _Mother!”_

I run to the door. Mommy laughs when she turns to me. She’s beautiful, even more when she smiles like this. She leans and opens her arms, and I run to her.

“Welcome home, Mother!”

She lifts me up, hugs me tight. I slide my face in her hair, against her neck. She smells nice. She smells like snow, pine and cold, and Mommy’s smell.

She left for so long this time. I don’t want her to do it again, so I’ll never let her go. When I say it to her ear, she hugs me even tighter.

“I’m sorry, Yuuki. But I’m here, now.”

I nestle under her long hair and close my eyes. I hear Daddy coming in.

“Welcome home, Juri.”

“I’m glad to be here...Haruka.”

Mommy sighs very softly when she whispers Daddy’s name. Curled up against her, I hear them kiss above my head. I smile.

“Yuuki didn’t want to eat with me today,” Daddy whispers. “I think she was waiting for you.”

“Are you jealous, my love?”

I hear tenderness in Mommy's voice and a smile in Daddy's.

“Sometimes. But I can’t blame her for only wanting you. She’s her father’s daughter.”

Daddy puts his hand gently on my head, ruffles my hair. I burst into laughter.

Mommy takes me to the living room, sits down and keeps me on her lap. When I open my eyes and look up, she just put her wrist to her lips. Her fangs gleam like the white pearls on her ears. It’s pretty. She’s pretty. Always.

“Yuuki. Here.”

She gives me her wrist, and it smells even better. I grab her hand, quickly put my lips on it before it spills on her dress. I’m hungry, very hungry even if I told Daddy that I wasn’t. I suck, for a long time.

I blink, because I suddenly feel like crying. It’s so good that it almost hurts. Mommy’s blood is different when she comes back from her travels...it tastes even more of her smiles, her laugh, her arms when she pulls me close to her. It makes me feel warm everywhere, but mostly in my heart.

I keep eating, I look at her at the same time. She brushes my hair and smiles at me. She's beautiful. She's singing something to me, but I don't understand the words. It's soft, soft like the snow falling at night when we're safe inside.

Between her lips, I see her canines. I raise a hand, touch a pointy end. She lets me do it, her smile even bigger, more beautiful. One day, I’ll have canines like her too. And I could bite Big Brother. If he still wants to. He told me yes...that he “couldn’t wait”. I don’t really know what it means, but he looks happy when he said that. And when he’s happy, I’m happy too.

“Good evening, Kaname.”

“Mother. Welcome.”

Big Brother comes near and puts a kiss on Mommy's cheek. She smiles at him and asks him how his day went. Mommy's smile is different. It looks like the one she gives to Daddy.

As he talks, Big Brother sits on an armchair, near us. His eyes are soft, like Mommy's voice. A bit sad too. He looks at us and slowly smiles at me. His eyes lit up.

I feel feverish. I close my eyes and swallow again even if I'm less hungry. One day, when we're grown-ups, I'll taste Big brother's blood. And he'll taste mine. When I think about it, I'm a bit scared, but happy too.

I will finally know what his smile tastes like, this smile he has when he looks at me. It’s the most beautiful smile I know.

Kaname’s smile.

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Helpless, exhausted spectator, Yuuki watched the scene with amazement. Her mother Juri, Kaname as a child, and this tiny little girl she had been once. Tears came to her, but she couldn’t look away.

The memory was primal and powerful, touching in its simplicity: she couldn’t have been more than three years old. She didn’t think she still had such vivid memories of that time, even less of her mother. Juri, who for once wasn’t in tears, her face dripping with blood as she orchestrated one last spell to protect her child. But she seemed happy and serene, as she fed her little girl, humming a lullaby from a distant country.

Yuuki closed her eyes a moment, tried to find again the unmistakable savour of her mother’s blood. But the evanescent smile was already fading away, along with all her feelings: repletion, plenitude, trust, safety. Love.

When she opened her eyes, the three entities had disappeared, and there only remained an emptiness, torturing her.

Floating, she felt herself falling back. Weak, disoriented, she let herself sink through the cold hard ground turned bottomless lake.

Darkness closed on her. A void filled her.

“ _Yuuki?”_

The familiar voice made her smile with relief. Her body heavy, limp, she gave in to her memories with the same abandonment.

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	18. Chapter Ten: Helplessly- Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! More surprises await us as we're nearing the end of arc 1 of BCC. And more Kaname, I'm afraid...

_Helplessly Part Two_

 

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“Yuuki...why?”

Why? I don’t think I know it myself. Unable to give an answer, I avoid his gaze.

“I’m not thirsty.”

His hand closes on my wrist. I freeze, all my senses on alert despite myself. His smell, his skin against mine, his warmth, his voice... _everything_ is tantalizing.

“Stop. Don’t lie to me.”

Gently, he forces me to face him.

“Yuuki, look at me. Please.”

Kaname is not the begging kind, and I’m not strong enough to resist him. I look up, and immediately my eyes get lost in his. He’s suspicious, intransigent, but mostly worried. He puts his hands on my cheeks, brushing them with his thumb as if to wipe away an imaginary tear.

“Tell me.”

My heart feels heavy when I hear this dreaded fear in his usually trusting eyes. He’s so beautiful, so fascinating, that it hurts. His face hardens as he leans toward me.

“Yuuki, do you still regret following me?”

I jump, startled, and instinctively step back.

“No! It’s...”

But my voice breaks, and when I see a cloud come over his face, I realize that I just recoiled.

“Well...I don’t know. Probably...”

Spontaneously, I grab his hands, still unable to look him in the eyes. My throat is parched and painful, and I know it’s not only the thirst causing this lump that keeps me from breathing, to think clearly. I close my eyes to calm down, but almost immediately, _his_ image comes to me.

_Zero. Zero trapped in the thorny vines of the Bloody Rose. Zero threatening me with his gun. Zero swearing that he will kill me._

It will be almost six months since we left the Academy. Six months that Kaname has spent telling me everything he knows, and that we’ve been living abroad in order to protect me. While some of the former Night Class students followed us as bodyguards, we’re often alone, Kaname and I. To get to know him like this is like a dream come true.

But sometimes, all I need is a word, a familiar detail, the slightest thing, to think about _him_ , to wonder what he’s doing, what he’s becoming.

_Zero. Zero lowering his weapon, embracing me. Asking me if the human I was is still there, somewhere._

_Zero biting me one last time. Zero kissing me..._

The lump in my throat is burning, and while shame reddens my cheeks, I fight back tears. _No, that’s enough!_ Furious at myself, I push away this image I’m no longer worthy of. If, in this very moment, I could destroy this entire part of my existence, I might do it. It’s too painful!

I will never see my friends from the Academy again, to not raise any suspicions about my true nature. And what about Yori? Now that she knows the truth about vampires and has had time to think, how would she react if she saw me, so different from who I was?

Kaien Kurosu, my adoptive father, will no longer brighten my days with his smile and his innate good mood. Kaien Kurosu, one of the most experienced hunters of our time, the man who watched over me relentlessly and without whom I couldn’t have lived this peaceful existence.

And mostly, I will never be a Guardian again, at Zero’s side...

_Zero…!_

I bite back a whimper. In silence, Kaname holds me in his arms, a hand lost in my hair. I try to resist him, but my strength disappears. I feel weak, miserable. Some days, I feel like I am a Pureblood in name only. I whisper, cornered.

“It’s complicated...everything went so fast. And I was human for so long. I still have trouble getting used to it...”

“Everything is fine, Yuuki, you have all the time in the world. We already talked about this. As long as I’m with you, I’m content with it.”

Nestled against his chest, I blush even harder. I’m glad Kaname can’t see me now, even if he has known since the beginning that I have regrets. He probably feels their aftertaste every time he bites me, helpless as I am at hiding my feelings.

I can barely imagine what it can mean for my brother, to feel my regret for Zero. But he doesn’t push me away despite this. Because he loves me above everything else...

Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I hear his heart beating. I let myself give in to this now soothing and familiar music, and slowly my breath relaxes, in sync with his. As always, I just need to be beside him for a few moments for my doubts to disappear and my strength to come back. I never feel as much vampire, as much Pureblood, as when I am in his arms, and every day I spend beside him, the human girl in me fades a bit more.

Eyes closed, nestled against him, I breathe in his smell, like a flower fills with sunshine after a dark night. Only one certitude remains within me: _I love him_. I love him so much. I've always loved him, and he has always been there. Ever since my birth in this vast family house where I was secretly kept, until my human transformation six years later. He watched over me during my mortal life and decay. He was there for me when I was reborn as a Pureblood...what would I have become without him?

I finally dare to look him in the eyes: unreadable at first, they light up and contain nothing but tenderness. He doesn’t need to smile: everything is there, and as far as I can remember, I am the only one to receive such looks from him. My heart fills with such an intense joy that it almost hurts. Even now, I cannot believe that I could forget these feelings – our feelings – for ten long years. Was the spell put on me by my mother Juri so powerful?

I brush his cheek gently, and he closes his eyes, giving in to my caress. I gulp, and finally, the knot in my throat unfurls: yes, I still have regrets. I should know it's no use denying them, for they are linked to a past that will always be part of me. Heavy-hearted, I snuggle against him again, ready to disappear in his embrace.

Compared to the immortal bond I have with Kaname, the pain I feel from losing my human past is manageable. I can live with it.

I _have_ to live with it.

For Kaien, free to now take back his place among the hunter elite; his reputation couldn’t suffer an over-familiar relation with a Pureblood.

For Zero to live his own life by himself. By revealing myself as a vampire, I betrayed him in the most horrible way, and there is no turning back.

For Kaname who loves me so much.

For myself, who will never be human again, and who has to rebuild everything, re-learn everything...

“So...why don’t you want my blood?”

As he whispers those words, Kaname’s heart misses a beat against my heart, a sign that while his voice is neutral, it’s not a trivial question for him. I blink, brought back to reality. Of course I want to bite him. But...

_Not yet. You can’t…._

“Of course I do. But I told you I wasn’t thirsty.”

I step back and smile, trying to fool him. Kaname’s eyes darken, then he tightens his grip on my waist.

“You’ve always been a bad liar, Yuuki. Some things never change.”

His tone is sharp, as it often is, but I feel his heart isn’t in it. In the six months I spent with him, I’ve learnt to read between the lines. I turn my head, ill at ease.

“I’m telling you that there’s no rush. And I can barely control my fangs.”

“...If it’s the only problem then...”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him put his wrist to his lips, the fangs behind them already sharper. When I understand what he’s about to do, my whole body reacts. Inside me, something stirs with delight, stretches, inhales, licking its chops. I hesitate between quickly walking away and simply waiting...

_No!_

Suddenly, my hand in on his still-intact wrist, and I slowly force him to lower his arm.

“No. Not like this. Please.”

My voice is still hoarse because of the tears – and the purely animal lust shaking me at the mere thought of _drinking_ , but I hope he doesn’t notice. Kaname frowns, puzzled.

“You still can’t use your fangs at will, but that is a small matter,” he whispers. “You didn’t have a vampire childhood to learn all of this. Time along with your instincts will soon do the rest. Let me feed you. I’ve waited ten years to do it.”

I keep myself from rolling my eyes. Here he is again, this condescending Kaname who once towered over me when the rest of the Night Class watched us too closely. Today, I notice that it’s mostly a haughty attitude to hide his unease and worries rather than a true mark of disdain.

“I...I don’t know. I sometimes feel I’m not worthy of what you give me. When I’m ready, I’ll know how to bite you. We can wait.”

Thirst boils inside of me, but I hold on. When Kaname puts his hand on my cheek and looks me in the eyes, I fight with all my will to not look at the web of veins I feel beating under the marmoreal skin of his neck.

“That is ridiculous. So this is why you would rather starve yourself?”

I frown, more hurt by his words than I would like.

“You said it yourself, I am a Pureblood and I can’t die of something so trivial. Please, Big Brother.”

I give him a peck on the cheek, knowing that kissing his lips would only make my lust even stronger. And I pull away.

For once, he lets me go. As I leave the room, trying to remain proud, I feel his gaze on the back of my neck. I reach the door, relieved, when suddenly I freeze, all my senses on edge: the well-known fragrance fills up the room, wraps me up entirely.

Kaname’s blood.

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She couldn’t breathe. The thirst was once again unbearable. In tears, Yuuki closed her eyes on this new memory, but she still felt Kaname’s possessive embrace surrounding her.

“That’s enough. Stop...Stop!”

Curled up on herself, she fought back her tears, but a devastating whisper finally crossed her clenched lips.

“Let me go...make it stop!”

Exhausted, delirious, she kept falling into the depths of her tormented soul. Like a film with her as the only spectator, the memory unfurled again...

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I turn around slowly, in torture. Inside me, the beast growls, ready to pounce. Kaname looks like has not moved an inch, but his wrist bears a bite mark. Despite myself, my eyes linger on the blood running on his alabaster skin, falling to the floor in tantalizing drops. _Mouthwatering_.

“I said no.”

But my voice is shaking. Impassive, he extends his wounded hand, palm up, wrist offered. When another drop falls on the ground, my conscience flickers.

The following moment, my lips are sealed to his wrist. And finally my tongue finds again the myriad of anticipated flavours: his blood tastes like his kisses, filled with the hidden tenderness of his embraces. All the sadness and all the love I've always seen in his detached words, his calculated gestures, his unreadable gazes, I find them multiplied a hundredfold. Multiple feelings which never cease to carry me away, satisfy me. As always, tears come as I swallow, again and again. When my legs give way under the bliss, he holds me with his other arm, and we both fall to the floor with my lips never once leaving his wrist. Absent-minded, I sigh with contentment despite myself. Kaname kisses my hair.

“Liar.”

I swallow again, and the bliss in me fades away a bit now that my thirst is being quenched. My tears turn to angry ones, but disappointment isn’t enough yet to make me stop drinking. What a Pureblood, really! At the slightest drop of his blood, I am still unable to control myself...

How does Kaname manage to always remain impassive?

And how could Zero hold on for more than four years? How could he control himself when I knowingly gave him my blood, barely aware of the _torture_ I put him through? My heart races at this thought. Vaguely ashamed, tears in my eyes, I push his image away and swallow again.

Kaname whispers in my ear.

“The same blood runs through our veins, Yuuki. How could you be unworthy of me? You were born to be by my side. And I live only to take care of you.”

I drink less hungrily. As if sensing the end, his free arm wraps around my shivering shoulders, and he holds me with surprising tightness.

“You’re becoming so secretive,” he whispers against my hair. “I can’t read you like I used to. Do I have to drink your blood to know what you are thinking?”

Me, secretive? Yet I find myself so predictable...but maybe it’s a family trait.

I take one last sip, more to give myself courage than because I'm really thirsty. Then, sated, I finally pull away from his wrist. Instantly his hands lift up my chin, and I feel his lips on mine, tender, possessive. My heart races again, surprised by this new embrace, imperious and carnal. When we finally break the kiss, panting, I know his fangs are ready. But still, he looks me in the eyes, interrogative, unwilling to bite me despite the ruby glow in his pupils. I admire his self-control...

“Why do you refuse, Yuuki? I thought you accepted our nature long ago.”

I purse my lips, and all my pride is needed to not burst into tears. I can’t tell him, I can’t answer. It’s impossible...

“Yuuki, please. I could question your blood, but I don’t want to learn what troubles you without your consent.”

I look down, crushed by his honesty, and by the glint of despair in his eye. I put my forehead on his chest and, certain that I am about to waste everything, I mutter in a trembling voice:

“It’s just that...I’m scared!”

And I finally burst into tears. My tears flow, burning, corrosive. Mindless of the blood soaking his black shirt, he holds me tight and whispers.

“But of what?”

Wracked with sobs, I feel so tiny in his powerful arms. I'm deeply ashamed: the last time I cried like this, I was still human. And though I've changed, I'm still so pathetic...but the words come easily, and I can't hold them back. Mortified, I hear the bell of our fragile relationship begin to toll.

"The very first time I drank from your neck...I saw something. It was beastly. Scary. At first, I didn't really understand what it was. It happened several times in the past few months. I think that this monster is me. My...instincts."

I curl up as I pour my entire bitterness and panic. The image I’m talking about only came up a dozen times, and yet it keeps haunting me. This powerful, inhuman beast, whose jaw is covered in fangs, only appears when I drink Kaname’s blood. Without taking into account the horrible thirst following this vision, this desire bursting and engulfing me for a few seconds before fading away.

This thirst which, I could swear it, could lead me to do the worst.

“I sometimes want to drink from you, again and again...and even...devour you entirely.”

Not only to drink until I’m satisfied, to drink... _until I kill_. At this mere thought, my stomach churns with a disgusting mixture of desire and horror. As horrible as it appears, this is how I feel. And the worst in all this, it’s that...

“...Our uncle Rido told me he had such a desire. For our mother. For me. And I’m scared...I’m afraid to be like him!”

To think that during all these years, my parents and my brother worked to eradicate Rido and his madness. But the threat, now...is _me_!

“Oh, Yuuki...”

His voice is uncharacteristically shaking, and my heart leaps in my chest. Kaname’s embrace tightens, and his tone becomes strangely...relieved.

“Ever since you came back, your progress never ceases to amaze me. I come to forget you haven’t grown up like other vampire-born. They learn when they’re young that drinking someone else’s blood is to expose oneself to their thoughts, read a part of their mind. You know so little, you still can’t tell the difference between my memory and yours...”

Stunned, I try to control my tears with difficulty. With a tenderness he shows more and more often, he kisses my tears away.

“Yuuki, this beast that you saw, that you sometimes feel through my blood…It is but a manifestation of my memories. I thought I could keep such things to myself, but you’re more receptive than I thought. This is an image from long ago, a time when I hadn’t drunk blood in decades. It has nothing to do with you. One day soon I will explain.”

I remain in a state of shock, my tears stopping abruptly. “Not drank in decades”? Is it even possible? What does he mean? He’s not that old!

"As for the thirst that you feel...it's nothing else but a form of desire, brought to its paroxysm. We are beings made of urges and instincts, Yuuki, such is our nature. Every vampire learns to control themselves growing up, thanks to their relatives, giving them counsel and feeding them. You didn't have this opportunity..."

As he whispers, his lips leave my temple and slide along my neck. I shudder at his touch, my senses heightened by blood and anticipation.

“Yuuki, don’t move.”

Before I can process what he has said, I feel his fangs close on my skin, at the base of my neck. I’m startled, instinctively: as always, the pain is sharp but fleeting, already gone. After a few seconds, I manage to relax, and only then he begins to swallow. Like a warm snake slithering inside my skin, my blood slowly leaves my body. I sniff discreetly, wipe my tears away with a trembling hand, then close my eyes and lean against him.

Is it because of my transformation? But while before, fear and pain were omnipresent during the act, now the emotions he rouses in me are subtler. Even if it’s because of my instincts, I never would have thought that the sound of my blood being drunk would bring me such rapture. I feel desired, precious. Essential.

And when Kaname feeds off me like this, I don’t count the time. I’m simply... _happy_. I stopped trying to feel guilty about such a thing.

Strangely serene, I emerge from the mist of bliss only when Kaname’s lips pull away from my skin. With one breath, he heals my wound – something I cannot do yet – then straightens up and look at me. Languid in his arms, I realize this isn’t exhaustion or anaemia numbing my body, but a satisfaction no human can understand.

Somewhere in the depths of my consciousness, something tells me it had never been this way with Zero. Is it because back then we were doing something forbidden? Because he acted out of survival instinct, and me out of selfishness and weakness? Because I was merely human? Or is it because it is “allowed”, “normal” with Kaname?

Is it because I love him? Does it mean that I did not, in fact, love Zero? But then why do his memories still haunt me? Why do I miss him so much?

_Zero…!_

I lower my eyelids and sigh. I don’t want to think about this anymore. The past shouldn’t matter anymore.

“Yuuki, look at me.”

I obey. Kaname’s brown eyes shine softly in the darkness, adorned with ruby sparks.

“Are you afraid when I bite you?”

Ever since we began this strange discussion, it’s the first question I can answer without hesitation.

“No. It’s something that I cannot describe. But it’s anything but unpleasant.”

Kaname's smile becomes infinitely softer, like the one he used to give me when our parents were still alive. With one hand, he strokes my parted lips, and I feel him wipe a bit of the blood staining my skin.

“Do not be fooled by my self-control,” he whispers. “When your blood runs on my tongue, I have to fight with all my might to keep from wanting you all for myself. _All of you_. A vampire's thirst can only be quenched by the blood of the one he loves, and it creates an excessive reaction. Fortunately, the desire for the other's happiness chases this bestial need. This is what separates us from sick persons like Rido."

With calculated care, Kaname licks the blood running from his wrist, then ends the healing of his already-coagulated injury with one breath. This vision troubles me as much as it enchants me.

"Trust in yourself as you trust in me, Yuuki. You are the daughter of Juri Kuran and Haruka Kuran: they were the most harmonious Pureblood couple I ever met. It runs in your blood, in your genes. You cannot hurt the one you love, cannot put his life in danger."

Comforted, I relax against him, now sleepy, completely mindless of the fact that we are sitting on the ground. His arms wrap around me, protective, as he leans on the wall behind us and sighs.

“And anyway, I will never allow it, since my death might annoy you.”

I hear his smile in his voice, amused, echoing the blood he gave me. Against my ear, his heart beats slowly, muffled. Reassuring.

I stay silent, lost in thought. Juri and Haruka...my parents. I have so few memories of them. The stories I hear about them, mostly told by Kaname, both scare me and fill me with enthusiasm. Sometimes, even though I’m a Pureblood again, I feel completely alien to them.

“Big Brother...do you think that if they had lived, they would have been proud of me? Of who I am today?”

I close my eyes. Kaname lets out a trusting sigh.

“I don’t need to believe it, Yuuki. I’m sure of it.”

.

 

.

.

The memory faded away.

Kaname's embrace disappeared, like a lukewarm stream suddenly turning to ice as one sinks deeper and deeper. Yuuki felt her muscles tense, her mind unravel. Left bare, her most basic instincts took offence at this total abandon, and for a short while, a nameless fear took hold of her. She shuddered under the panic, as a limp body shudders in its sleep when the wandering mind has a last flash of consciousness before falling into the void.

Then her last mental barriers crumbled under the weights of her renouncement, and she descended again, mind and body heavy like lead. Blown by the speed of her unstoppable fall, memories passed through without touching her, barely recognizable shreds of images and sound.

Her thoughts disappeared, her senses shut down one after the other. Her fall, or rather her vertigo, seemed to become less violent, as if darkness became so dense it was almost solid. Like a point of no return.

A strange grey glimmer pulled her out of her torpor. Voices came from far away, indistinct but familiar. An argument. A feminine plea. An answer, in a deeper but still-nervous tone. Suddenly her heart felt heavy, and she wanted to leap forward, to finally hear what the voices had to say.

_Memories. The only ones that really mattered._

But one of the voices became deep and omnipresent, covering all the others. A woman's, wracked with tears. Her mother?

_“You don’t want to go there. You don’t want to know...”_

A cool, oh so familiar hand, rested on her forehead, on her eyes, forcing her to close her eyelids.

“ _You don’t want to know. Go back up.”_

She struggled weakly, but with the urgency to know the truth came the fear of _knowing_.

Which truth? To know what?

“ _Go back up. He’s waiting for you.”_

The hand on her sternum became commanding, pushed her back ruthlessly. She fell again, but differently, almost horizontally, thrown in other abysses, less deep, quieter.

Silence. Stillness.

Then the explosion.

.

.

_Euphoria. A frenzy of senses. The quintessence of those first sips._

_The last shred of fear and disgust gives way before this bestial relief. Hurriedly, he swallows, again and again, unable to think. His head slightly tilted back, his lips sealed tight on the wound giving him the much-awaited elixir, he yields to a few seconds of pure bliss._

_Light after a century of darkness. Warm and salutary dawn after endless night._

_To drink,_ _ **at last**_ _. To feel the flow of a life on his tongue, to taste this revered and_ _adored_ _essence, brimming with promises, thoughts and tangled memories in the most perfect symphony. To gulp down entire years, thousands of emotions, their intensity heightened by thirst and animal desire._

_To drink blood. To feed with the same innocence as a newborn discovering maternal milk to soothe his hunger. To feel death and thirst step away, and thanking providence with each sip, sincere, humble, grateful. Alive._

_To drink someone else’s blood and love it. For the first time. The first time since..._

_...since Yuuki. Since her return._

_This one memory brings his conscience back immediately. Zero immediately stops drinking, petrified, his mind painfully clear. He keeps his eyes shut tight, but his other senses, enhanced now that thirst fades away, depict his surroundings with acute precision._

_A closed brick-walled room, a heavy oaken door, a small draped window opened on an empty alley. The dark, deep and quiet night, the almost-full moon, the ever-present snow, white and icy._

_Another door, leading to a smaller room. A child sleeps there, his breath_ _even_ _. An old dog stands guard, whining with worry as he senses the smell of blood, as well as the_ _**predator** _ _striking nearby._

_A creaking wooden sound stops him from studying his environment, and he instinctively opens his eyes. In the hearth near him, a fire crackles. He's kneeling in front of an armchair. A woman sits in it. She's holding an anti-vampire gun in her hand, loaded, but keeps it on the armrest. Despite her racing heart betraying her turmoil, she doesn't move, doesn't moan even when he starts drinking again, even when pain throbs her wounded flesh._

_He feels her staring at him, brave or unaware of the danger. Still dizzied by the much-desired blood he’s carefully devouring, he decides on glancing at her out of the corner of his eye._

_Her dove-grey eyes don’t flinch before the crimson in his own irises. Her blond, curled hair, barely long enough to brush her shoulders and her neck, shines softly in the light of the fire. Strangely, she seems to relax as he stares at her, his lips pressed against her slender wrist._

_Yet does she understand what horrible temptation her human blood puts him through? Can she even comprehend how easily he could drain her entirely? Does she feel this predatory instinct which makes him the only one to decide whether she will live or die?_

_Small, defenceless prey, she said she was there by choice. And, as absurd as it may be, it’s the truth. To remember it allows him to definite_ _ly regain his footing._

 _Elora is_ _**giving** _ _him her blood. To pay a debt, and to soothe the friend she still sees in him. He cannot kill her. He doesn’t_ _**want** _ _to kill her._

_His prey. She will be his prey for a few sips more. Then he will stop._

_As if feeling dizzy, she leans against the armchair. Immediately, he lessens his suction. When she closes her eyes, he does the same. With growing guilt – nagging but oh-how necessary – he slowly savours the vital fluid she offers him._

.

.

.

.

The image – another memory, but Zero’s this time? – disappeared too. The hunter’s presence faded away as quickly as if had appeared, and the web of perception – the room, the wound on his back, the blonde-haired woman named Elora – disappeared in a deep void.

Only the strange feeling of satisfaction remained, laced with guilt, that appeared as he carefully swallowed this stranger’s blood. Yuuki felt her own thirst fade away, replaced by a complete indifference, and she didn’t try to understand this strange but indisputable fact: relieved, she gave in to it with abandon.

Surrounded by darkness, she had ceased to sink and was now floating in mid-water. Now that she wasn't giving in to a memory, the outside world was nothing to her but a uniform, soundless mass, without warmth nor cold, without textures or smells. Her breathing barely-perceptible, she heard nothing but the quiet, slowed down beating of her heart.

Curled up on herself, she enjoyed this new-found respite with relief, like peace and quiet after a frenzied crowd. She kept her eyes closed, sure that there was nothing else to see, but also fearful of breaking this tranquillity if she opened her eyes. She felt like she had hit rock bottom in a way. To move a muscle seemed both impossible and useless. Even... _dangerous_.

She escaped the pain – _what pain?_ – she had felt for so long – _how long?_ – that she only knew one thing: that this much sought-after status quo may last forever, but the longer it would last, the harsher the awakening would be.

She might as well never wake up, then...

“You cannot stay like this, Yuuki.”

At these words – _this voice_ – she widened her eyes, breathed in like one breathes after nearly drowning: brutally, desperately. Instead of the expected darkness, a blinding light awaited her.

“Pureblood hibernation is only possible for the oldest of us. You wouldn’t survive more than a few days.”

Panting, she turned and leaned on the hard ground, looking for the voice. She almost choked in a stunned whimper.

He was there, a few steps away from her. In a simple black shirt and trousers. His alabaster skin, his jet-black hair tousled on his neck, his usual presence. He was looking at her with the distant and obsequious gaze he gave her when she was still human, and couldn’t risk approaching her.

Kaname.

She gritted her teeth, tried to stand up to go to him, but her strength had abandoned her. Blinded by the light, she put a hand to her tear-filled eyes, begged him softly.

“Kaname…! It’s you? It’s...it’s really you?”

Kaname's polite expression seemed to shatter before her pitiful image, and in his eyes, she saw all the tenderness he had for her.

"...What do you think, Yuuki?" he answered in a lower tone, answering questions with other questions like he usually did.

She shook her head and fought back her tears, refusing to take his eyes off him for one second. And yet, she _knew_.

“You’re dead. I saw you...”

She knew he was nothing but a manifestation of her mind, a sum of the memories she had left of him. Nothing else. But for her, who for weeks had kept seeing him dying in her nightmares, to see him like this was already too good to be true...

Tenderness had once again deserted his perfect features, and he had this haughty and vindictive expression one expected from a Pureblood in a formal reception. His voice became sharp.

“Yuuki, stand up.”

She weakly tried to obey him, but her body betrayed her again, and she fell face first on the ground, leaning on her arms, shaking with exhaustion.

“I can’t...I cannot anymore.”

She curled up on herself, filled with shame and sorrow, now unable to look him in the eyes.

“...I don’t want to do it anymore, Kaname. I just want...to stop. To be with you again.”

She whimpered softly, her head in her arms, face down. Her thirst was gone but had been replaced by a deadly cold within her bruised body. She clenched her fists in the hope of controlling her shivers.

“That’s impossible,” Kaname’s voice – now much closer – whispered. “You would have to die.”

She shuddered, looked up hastily. Now Kaname loomed over her, indifferent looking.

“I want you to live, Yuuki. You are worth more than this. Stand up.”

His condescending tone had the merit of awakening her combativeness.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” she whispered furiously. “You cannot ask this of me after what happened…!”

She bit her lips, unable to fight back her tears as the memories came back to her.

The snow-covered clearing. Both of them, who could at last set aside their obligations as Pureblood prince and princess, and spend time together like they used to. This simple but intense joy elating her, that made him smile so naturally...

A void. A gaping hole in her memory.

Then blood, everywhere, shed not out of desire but to bring death. Her soulmate disappearing in crystal shards.

Her own tears. Her pain. Her screams...

“ _ **KANAME!!!”**_

Yuuki recoiled under the violence of the memory, her hand clenched on her belly, waiting for the reminiscence of her own wounds to disappear. She had only escaped death by some miracle. She kneeled with difficulty. Her throat was dry, and she tried to control her breathing.

“You’re dead, Kaname. Assassinated. Probably right in front of me...and I can’t even remember why, or by whom…!”

After a long silence, Kaname crouched slowly, hands crossed before him, and remained silent. Eyes down, Yuuki waited for a haughty or lashing comment like he gave every time she doubted her own abilities. But the silence lengthened. Then a brush of fabric and Kaname's patrician hand appeared in her field of vision, stroking her chin to make her look up. She shuddered at this feather-like touch, linked to uncountable memories. She looked up at this face she knew so well: usually inscrutable, he now exuded sadness and remorse.

“I am but the fruit of your memories, Yuuki, and I don’t know what happened either. But I am certain of one thing...”

Reluctantly, he moved his hand away, as if he suddenly wasn’t allowed to touch her anymore. With his usual grace, he put one knee down and sat on the ground, so near and yet far enough for her to not touch him, even if she extended her arm.

“I told you enough times when I was alive: I want you to live, whatever the cost. This has not changed, no matter what happened.”

His voice was slow and deep, and she knew he always acted like this when he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“But who am I without you, Kaname?”

Kaname’s gaze hardened again.

“A Kuran. Like me. Like Juri, like Haruka.”

“My parents have always been there for each other,” she whispered in an uneven voice. “And you too, you had a goal. You had me, even when I wasn’t aware of my true nature. And now you are all dead, I have nothing left. Only your absence, and questions.”

“Yet I know you are capable of it, Yuuki. You will survive, just like I lived in solitude for centuries during my previous existence. The Kurans are never as prodigious as when they face adversity, and it has always been this way. This may be this, our true curse.”

Yuuki lowered her head, heavy-hearted. When they got to know each other, there had been a painful time when she felt underestimated by Kaname, who spoiled her like a child. But now it was the contrary: he saw her stronger and more resilient than she really was.

“I’m not like my parents and you, Kaname. Not yet. I lived longer as a human than as a Pureblood...without you, I have no compass.”

Kaname said nothing for a moment, as if to share her pain. Yuuki wiped the tears streaming down her face, burning and silent. It had been a long time since she cried like this, especially before Kaname.

“...You have Zero.”

Astonished, she looked at him, not daring to understand. But her brother remained impassive.

“Zero will help you and protect you,” he said. “You know the resentment I have for him. But you also know that it never stopped me from acknowledging his strength. I cannot protect you anymore, and he is the most qualified to do it instead. Unconsciously, he still feels indebted to you, and he’s not totally wrong.”

Shocked, she remained speechless.

“It was good thinking to find him,” Kaname admitted after a short reflection. “Like you, I don’t exactly know what this bond you created between the two of you is. But it remains just as strong. Hard to predict for our enemies. Use it, Yuuki. And drink his blood, you need it.”

She finally was able to speak again, and the hot anger in her spoke without hesitation.

“I hope you’re kidding? No way! The Blood Tablets are enough.”

The strange feeling of satiety caused by Zero’s act kept on growing, and her strength was coming back to her without explanation. She tried to rise up to prove it, but to her dismay, she couldn’t stand yet. Kaname looked worried.

"You were seriously wounded the day I died. Blood Tablets will never be enough to sate you. You're only surviving, and you know it."

Yuuki grabbed her head in her hands, furious at herself. Kaname's voice, the voice of her memories but also of her consciousness, was stating an inescapable truth. For weeks, she had been living on Blood Tablets. She had never been able to completely heal mentally or even regain the clairvoyance she had learnt at Kaname's side through the years. She was but a shadow of her former self, nothing more.

“It isn’t Zero’s blood I need,” she muttered in a whimper. “I need you.”

“Because a vampire can only be sated and sane with the blood of their loved one, is that it, Yuuki? In your state, you’ll only be able to act clearly after drinking blood of this quality.”

“Yes. And that’s why without you, I’m nothing,” she growled bitterly.

Another silence from Kaname. Heavy-hearted, she dared to glance at him. Gazing into nothingness, he seemed deep in thought.

“I am the voice of your memory, Yuuki, but also of your instincts. You may feel the need to fool everyone to assert your authority. I won’t blame you for that. But be at least decent enough to be honest to yourself, instead of trying to believe in your own lies.”

Kaname’s gaze became inquisitive, and she shuddered, feeling like those times when the brother and lover gave way before the merciless teacher, determined to train his sister in the complex role of Pureblood princess.

“We both know the feelings you had for Zero. Even if you concealed them during all these years, they never really went away. You couldn’t forget him.”

Yuuki stumbled at those words. Deep within her, something moved. Something tiny and vulnerable, fangless and weak, whose powerlessness was only matched by her desperate stubbornness.

A small human girl, clad in a black and white uniform, left alone in the middle of an academy in ruins. A small, fragile human girl overwhelmed by conflicting feelings, weeping for the loss of a young vampire to whom she had given blood freely.

_**No!** _

She closed her eyes for a while, struggling to not be overtaken by this other, this weak and confused teenage girl she had finally forgotten.

“You know I swore to be faithful to you,” she whispered softly. “I only ever drank your blood. Why torture me like this?”

Kaname’s eyes gleamed, commanding.

“This oath of fidelity has no meaning now that I’m dead. To respect it barely allows you to survive. Since you want to avenge me, do it well and recover your strength and your spirits. If you still hold him dear, Zero will become your only solution.”

“ _I am your only solution, Zero.”_

Desperate, she heard the echo of her own words, when she was trying to convince Zero to join her cause. Fate showed cruel irony...

“I cannot ask him this...”

Troubled, she remembered Zero that fateful day when she contacted him again, in Klasdic, during a stormy night. Spurred on by desperation after Kaname’s death, she went on to find the only person she thought she could still trust, even if it meant she might fight him and die. But Zero's wary and haughty behaviour had stirred up her Pureblood pride: this teenager turned man, vampire by nature but definitely hunter in his actions, words and beliefs, who thought her to be powerful and inflexible. So inflexible she had been.

She first tried to convince him by bargaining, then by asserting her Pureblood status; unsurprisingly, it had failed. Zero Kiryu had always been an exception in their world and Yuuki, during her years of travels, had understood it very well.

So she had acted in such a way for him to become indebted to her. She forced him to drink her blood and instinctively sealed their fate with a blurry, forgotten Pureblood magic. She didn't know herself the full consequences of this chain uniting them, but it had outclassed her expectations...

Zero had finally yielded. Unable to survive without her and her essence, he swore to help her in her quest for the truth; but it was nevertheless a forced oath, made through coercion, she was well aware of it. And if the presence of her former Guardian companion gave her back some hope, it didn’t stop her from weakening, until the breaking point.

Snippets of the massacre came back to her, imprecise and yet heavy. In the mist of her former delirium, she saw Zero, wounded, desperately trying to stop her in her destructive madness. Improbably, he had succeeded. For a short while, he had managed to invert their power balance, and it had looked painful for both of them.

Yet she felt that, as she gained back her strength, their relationship was reverting back to usual: her commanding, him obeying. But until when?

She chased away this less-pressing question and came back with dread to her own state of weakness. Was her liegeman's blood her only chance to get back her former vigour? Could fate be so cruel?

Just because she might still _feel_ something for him? A sentiment strong enough to make his blood irreplaceable? Five years later? But only a few weeks after Kaname’s death, could she even dare to believe it?

To take someone else’s blood was never just a feeding act, and no one could deny its emotional...and _carnal_ aspect. Furthermore, by drinking Zero’s blood, she would fatally discover his deepest, most secret thoughts.

“I don’t want to force him to do this. I already ask enough of him.”

She piously closed her eyes, almost feeling Zero’s distant and haughty gaze.

_“I’ve had enough of biting someone who’s more afraid of it than me.”_

_“You’ll stay here until you’re in control again...”_

Near her, Kaname sighed.

“He will get over it. If he wasn’t so stubborn, he would consider it an honour. But we both know what he thinks is not the true reason behind your hesitation. Otherwise, you would never have shot him.”

She opened her eyes and saw that Kaname – or rather, his image – was walking away calmly. Resigned, she did nothing to hold him back. The light all around became blinding, making her shed new tears.

“What are you truly afraid of, Yuuki? That Zero’s blood won’t satisfy you? To be forever this weak?”

Her brother’s voice became distant. She hid her face between her hands, heavy-hearted, feeling dizzy. Gently, she felt herself falling back.

“...Or, on the contrary, what it would mean if Zero could satisfy you?”

.

.

.

.

To her surprise, this new fall was very short, and she slowly rediscovered the limits of her own body, stiff and cold but quite real. As she emerged from her strange sleep, her senses sharpened, and her heart was pounding less erratically, but faster, as she woke up.

She drew a deep, long breath: the air was breathable, though tainted with fine ash dust. She was surrounded by a deep, muffled calm, unlike the silence of the depths she had just left.

She breathed out just as slowly, surprised by her own amazement: to breathe was such a simple thing, and yet it brought her so much serenity it was fascinating. Eyes closed, she scratched the cold, damp ground underneath her: soft earth, scattered by some metal scraps and bits of old wood.

She finally opened her eyes carefully. Darkness surrounded her, but it wasn't enough to hide her surroundings. She was lying on the ground of what probably was a basement, without any doors or windows. Through a gaping hole in the upper level, she could make out a stony ceiling, far away. After a few moments, she recognized the basement where she and Zero had gone before she fell asleep.

Or rather, this basement where had Zero dragged her, in the hope she would put her mind together away from all threat. She blinked, finally lucid as memories slowly came back to her.

She had killed. At least a dozen humans. Yes, they had taunted her, assaulted her when she was weak, but they remained hapless humans, and she a Pureblood. It didn't have to be this way. She could have drunk her first victim's blood and run away with her strength partially returned, leaving the others unharmed. But she had refused to drink, for reasons dear to her heart. So, to survive, she had killed, again and again. Without hesitation.

And she had _loved_ it...

_“If one day, we fall back to our instincts, what we become is...”_

She briefly closed her eyes, and one single tear ran along her temple. She raised a hand to wipe it and felt the sticky coat of dried blood on her skin. Her clothes were still unnaturally stiff and coarse: to the smell, she knew she was still covered in her victims’ blood. Memories flashed back in her mind of the torture she had inflicted.

Kaname was right. Once she had wondered what a Pureblood losing control was capable of. She now had her answer.

“ _...nothing can stop us.”_

Lashing, strangling, smothering, bleeding, crushing, ripping, disembowelling, breaking, crashing, decapitating, tearing apart...

Suddenly, amidst the incoherent images of this horrible massacre, a well-known face appeared, blood-red eyed and grey-haired. In his clenched hand, an anti-vampire sabre. On his hip, the Bloody Rose, unused.

Zero. Zero stepping in. Who, with a fierce gaze, whispered to her to stop.

She saw herself again wounding him, hitting him as hard as she could, furious at him standing in her way. Sick with sorrow and hatred, drunk with the smell of blood and death. He had defended himself with a strength born of despair, during an intense but short-lived fight. He had unsheathed the Bloody Rose only as a last resort when she was about to deliver the killing blow. But he had never shot.

“ _Go on...Kill me!”_

She shuddered at this last memory. Had she really given him such an order? How could have she come to this…?

And how could Zero have come out of it unscathed, if he had disobeyed her? Everything was messed up...

“ _If you still hold him dear, Zero will become your_ _only solution.”_

“Zero...!”

She opened her eyes on this last whisper. The image of an unknown woman appeared briefly, arm stretched, her wrist turned up, like for a blood offering. If Zero had finally managed to soothe his vampire instinct...was it the reason why, without having totally recovered, she felt... _better_?

Where was he? He whom she had thought condemned to only ingest her blood, did he really manage to bite someone else? Or had it been just another illusion?

A brushing sound seemed to answer her own whisper, then steps followed in the dust. Pulled out from her thoughts, she watched the rough circle of the hole she had been thrown into. On the upper level, a glowing light grew slowly to the rhythm of careful steps. Surprised, she stood up with difficulty; even if her strength had partially come back, her entire body was aching.

“Zero?”

Finally, a silhouette appeared above her. The light source, a lantern, was placed near the hole, then the newcomer put one knee down, watching her in silence. Yuuki remained speechless when she recognized the man. It wasn’t Zero, but it was troubling to notice that, growing up, the young hunter ended up looking a bit like him.

In the darkness, the newcomer had the same colourless hair, the same lean but athletic build under his long coat, a thin and serious face. To his belt, a sabre she would have known anywhere. He adjusted his small round glasses with a seasoned gesture and smiled gently.

“Good morning, Yuuki.”

Kaien Kurosu. Speechless at first, she didn’t think about answering his greeting.

“What...what are you doing here?”

The hunter’s smile broadened, and he didn’t seem to mind her impoliteness.

“I am here unofficially. Would you allow me to cut things short? It isn’t safe here. I suggest we take this discussion elsewhere.”

He leaned down as much as he could and held out his hand. Surprised at first, she obeyed and walked on a convenient beam. She grabbed the offered hand, used it to walk to the upper wooden floor, next to the hunter. During the manoeuvre, the dampened floor creaked ominously, and they carefully moved away from the hole. In the lamplight, she took the time to observe him, still surprised to find him here.

She looked for her words like she often did when she faced him. She hadn't seen him in several months, and yet…

“You still haven’t changed.”

Literally. In fifteen years, Kaien Kurosu hadn’t aged a day, but it only struck her when she was back from her voluntary exile with Kaname, three years after her Pureblood transformation. Yet Kaien Kurosu's lack of ageing was well-known in the Night World, since the veteran hunter, because of his dark ascendant, wasn't quite human. When she learnt this, Yuuki had felt deep guilt, filled with regret: she had lived under his protection for years, knowing he had been a renowned hunter, but was still wondering why she had never been curious enough to learn more about him.

He gave her one of those bright and jovial smiles he had always mastered.

"You have, Yuuki. You're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. Your true nature does wonders to you."

Yuuki blinked, taken aback by his usual frankness.

When, two years ago, she proved herself ready to take on the complex role of Pureblood princess, Kaname and she had put an end to their travels far away and taken back their places among the vampire society. Through the following eighteen months, they sometimes saw Kaien Kurosu during some social receptions. But while, from an outsider's point of view, the relations between them had appeared friendly enough, Yuuki never really knew how to behave in front of him. After all, back then he was about to become one of the highest-ranked leaders of the Association. A strange uneasiness, filled with regret, led her to slowly avoid Kaien altogether. Perhaps – surely? – aware of her will to stay away, or maybe to act on their respective new statuses, the hunter had been merely cordial and polite, never acting familiar toward the one he had introduced for ten years as his adoptive daughter.

Like another proof that a page had been turned, Yuuki had realized back then, feeling both nostalgic and grateful. Her new duties as a Pureblood were hard enough on her without her past as a human – still painful sometimes – being reminded to her.

Kaien gestured above his shoulder, toward the only exit of the underground tunnels.

“We will have to go outside to bring you to safety. Your...outfit may draw some attention. Put this on, please.”

As he talked, he had put down his lantern and taken off his coat to give it to her. In the candle’s faint light, Yuuki glanced at her own clothes, in an even worse state than she would have imagined. Brought back to reality, she put the coat on, wondering: how could he compliment her or even look at her in the eyes so earnestly, when she was _covered in human blood?_

She gathered her long brown hair, soaked with dirt and blood, to hide it meticulously under the fabric, before pulling the hood on. The coat, too big for her, was flapping at her heels. Shielded like this, she dared to peek at her adoptive father, still surprised by the unexpected way their meeting was unfurling, the first in years where they were alone.

She met Kaien’s gaze, watching her in silence. All traces of polite joy had deserted his features, replaced by a deep sadness. She stared back at him wordlessly. Suddenly ill at ease, he looked down.

“I...I learnt about Kaname Kuran. I’m sorry for our reunion to happen in such circumstances, Yuuki.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, then slightly opened his arms, as if to touch her, awaiting her consent. She stared at him in silence, careful to not show any emotion. Then she nodded, a lump in her throat.

“...So am I.”

And, seemingly indifferent to the dried blood covering her from head to toes, he stepped in to hug her close. She let him do it, troubled to see that, even as an adult and a Pureblood, she still felt so very small in her adoptive father’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Yuuki. So, so sorry.”

She accepted his condolences and his embrace without moving, seemingly proud, in truth fighting against tears threatening to overwhelm her, like every time Kaname was mentioned in front of her. For a few seconds, she thought about giving in to this strange feeling of safety, which she always felt only beside this man who took her in and saw her grow up. Silent, she closed her eyes and finally hugged him back, leaving out all the rest. He hugged her a bit tighter as if he was grateful.

She found herself breathing in his smell, clearly not a normal human’s. Despite herself, she felt through his skin the soft music of his blood and realized that despite her distant but quite real fear, she didn’t want to bite him. Whatever it was that Zero had done, she had to admit that it was... _efficient_.

She slowly opened her eyes, brutally brought back to reality. Zero. Where was he? Was he alright?

“We will do everything we can to shed light on this case, I promise,” Kaien whispered.

He broke their embrace and grabbed her shoulders, looking at her with frank determination from above his round glasses. She felt – and knew – that he wasn’t speaking lightly.

“We?” she noted, surprised.

“I’m not here officially, but I’m not alone. Toga Yagari went to find Zero. We will join them then leave the city. Lisenthard is not safe for strangers today.”

Kaien picked up the lantern and walked away, but Yuuki remained frozen. The veil of torpor, muffling her dread since her awakening, had gone away for good.

“I killed all those humans. Is this why you came here in person, with Yagari?”

The hunter stopped dead in his tracks, and the deep silence came back. Yuuki clenched her fist under her coat, once again wary and expectant.

Kaien said he had come with Toga Yagari, well-known and dreaded hunter in their own country. During the past five years, the man had kept on climbing up in the Association hierarchy, and his influence kept growing. Had he not hated responsibilities and politics with a passion, he would have been one of the Association leaders by now. But though Yagari was Zero’s former mentor, he was also very adamant about the Association rules and thus had almost shot his student in cold blood, back then he was starting to show the first signs of Level E. Because of this, Yuuki couldn’t bring herself to trust him.

“Is it to arrest me and lock me away that two renowned hunters are here, so far from home? Because if that’s the case, I won’t follow you. I don’t have time to lose.”

Kaien turned back and stared at her, his smile definitely gone. Suddenly, she saw in him no longer his adoptive father or Cross Academy’s exuberant ex-headmaster, but the hunter still sometimes called “the vampire without fangs”. Through the years, she had gathered information about this mythical entity, former Association hero, and more recently a friend of her late Pureblood parents. She felt that he hadn’t lost any of his former edge. You couldn’t survive for two hundred years in the troubled atmosphere that was the Night World without being yourself out of the ordinary...

The Association had gone through many troubles the past few years, between the Academy situation and the humans learning about vampires, a few months earlier. Yet, the secret guild remained powerful and influential, through a council present in each country. And in those troubled times, as the organization was busy rebuilding itself, Kaien was what could be considered the Head of the Hunter Association of their own country.

Kaien Kurosu finally looked down, as if submitting, but Yuuki remained wary. Now that he was no longer wearing his long coat, she was certain that he only carried his anti-vampire sabre on his hip. If he chose to try and force her to come with him, she could certainly run away despite her weakened state.

For a short while, the absurdity of the situation hit her: was she suspecting that this man, whom she just embraced, would try to hurt her? Her adoptive father, no less?

As she tried to remain impassive, she saw in Kaien's saddened gaze that her mistrust was hurting him.

"Yuuki, we only learnt about what you did once we arrived in Lisenthard. If we are here, that's because these tunnels had been sealed off two years ago, and had been opened unofficially tonight. We left the following hour. We had good hopes that Zero did this, since he..."

“...He solved a human trafficking case here”, Yuuki interrupted. “And because he took part in the seal creation once the scandal was buried. Yes, he told me about it. But why would you look for Zero?”

Yuuki tried to hide her surprise. She had done something unforgivable, and if she planned to avenge Kaname, it surely wouldn’t be the last. She was fully aware of it and would face the consequences in all due time. But could – _would_ – the Association accuse Zero of complicity?

Taken aback, she blinked. To lose herself entirely in her quest for vengeance was something she had expected. But since when, and _why_ did she feel so worried at the idea that Zero would get into trouble?

On top of that, why was she only worrying _now_?

“Yuuki, I haven’t stopped looking for you for weeks,” Kaien pursued, ignorant of Yuuki’s growing unease. “Since the rumours of Kaname’s death first started. You excel at travelling incognito, to the point that I even thought that, like your brother, you were...”

Kaien didn't finish his sentence, seemingly neutral. Yuuki thought she felt muffled anguish in his eyes: had he thought her dead, too?

“Yagari told me you made Zero your new... _ally,_ ” Kaien carried on. “With the bond between the two of you, we thought that Zero was the only person who would know precisely where you were. So I redirected my search in this direction, but he too knows how to be stealthy. Lisenthard was my first real clue in a month.”

“Why are you looking for me?”

Kaien was about to answer when he shuddered again, and he looked suspiciously about the tunnels.

“I wish I could explain everything right here, but despite my best efforts, I may have been followed. The Militia could be here any minute,” he whispered slowly, watchful. “And I think Zero deserves to hear what I have to say.”

He stopped to peer at the dark corridor leading them to the exit and came back to Yuuki, asking her silently to cooperate. Since she kept staring at him defiantly, he seemed resigned to give her a few explanations.

“If I have to be brief...you probably know I stayed in touch with Kaname those past five years.”

The young Pureblood nodded wordlessly. She and her brother had left the Academy in order to protect her then. Later, to teach her the difficult role of Pureblood Princess and Kuran heir. But Kaname didn't totally cut off all links, and Yuuki quickly understood it: her brother had kept informants in the vampire aristocracy and the hunters, informants he still contacted or visited from time to time in the deepest secrecy. So, when he deemed it the time right to officially introduce his sister to the Night World, the Kuran family hadn't lost any influence.

As years passed, Yuuki had proved herself capable to assist her older brother in his Pureblood duties, while taking her own independence in the political, blurry world of the Night World. She then learnt, among other things, that Kaien Kurosu was still one of Kaname’s best allies. When the truth about vampire had broken out, a great media storm had followed; rendering vital this unofficial partnership between an Association President and the one some saw as the “Pureblood King”, both adamant to soothe tensions between humans and non-humans.

For Yuuki, this secret alliance had found a perfect echo in the _Fœdus Aurorae_ delegation, which appeared at the same time than the Revelation, made of anonymous members for safety reasons. During a few months, this organisation, even as it was criticized by both camps, had tried to reconcile vampires and humans through heavily-broadcast public debates...

An organization whose members always remained hidden or masked on-screen, but Yuuki suspected them to have recruited Kaname, though he never admitted it before her. Had Kaien been part of it too?

“Shortly after the Revelation,” he carried on, “Kaname opened up to me about some suspicion he had regarding the origin of the leak that lead the human world to learn your existence. Each of us discreetly investigated, and we were to meet soon to cross our information. During our last exchange, through encrypted messages, he said he had discovered something vital, but that he wanted to put you in a safe place before deciding anything.”

Yuuki hid her surprise when she heard these revelations, putting them to the chronology of the last few months. As tensions were growing worse between humans and vampires, Kaname gradually pulled her away from political events, now too numerous and exhausting since the Reveal. She let him do it, feigning ignorance, relieved despite herself to be able to rest a little. Later, when he had suggested retiring for a few days in one of their family houses, she greeted this suggestion gratefully, happy to be able to spend time with her brother, alone. His travels had kept him away from her for almost three months. Out of safety, it had been decided to travel abroad in secret, only with some of their most faithful "lieutenants".

Ruka Souen and Akatsuki Kain, who escorted her regularly since her official reappearance, assisting her with their experience. Hanabusa Aidou, now a precious liaison officer between the Pureblood elite and the Aristocrats. And Seiren of course, always following Kaname like a shadow. All four of them were faithful and competent bodyguards, but their presence hadn’t been enough...

Yuuki briefly closed her eyes to restrain her sorrow and struggled to remain lucid. So, once they had gotten there, Kaname wouldn't have stayed by her side? Like all vampires, he had seemed concerned about the reveal of their secret, but he never mentioned that he was investigating to learn the origins of the Revelation. He never even stated any suspicion he might have had in her presence. Why? To protect her?

“Yuuki, it’s just a supposition, because I still need your testimony about the attack you both undertook. But...”

The young Pureblood felt a lump in her throat. If only she was still able to give such information!

Unknowing of her growing uneasiness, Kaien said out loud what she was starting to silently fear.

“...but I believe that Kaname had found a compromising piece of information about a Pureblood whom the Revelation, in one way or another, would have put in a position of power. And it’s certainly why your brother has been assassinated.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This world does not deserve Kaien Kurosu. And if you're wondering when Zero and Yuuki are going to finally meet again: don't fret! The next chapters will prove to be quite interesting...  
> Thank you for sticking with us so far! So, any thoughts about Kaname's objectives? Or how Yuuki will act toward Zero?  
> Remember that a review makes an author (and her translator) very happy... 😉


	19. Chapter Eleven: Uncertainly - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Elenthya speaking, original author of BCC. For once, I will be the one introducing this week's chapter!
> 
> I would like to use this opportunity and thank the people who made this translation happen.   
> Thanks to Ghostbunny, who gives us the honour of being a very profesionnal beta-reader, gracing us with a passionate review on the story each time.
> 
> And thanks to Vanamonde, tireless translator, who translated the entirety of BCC - a work that took the better part of a decade - in barely twelve months.  
> As a writer, I still can't believe how lucky I am.
> 
> Back to the chapter! This one is among my favourites. Maybe because it's quite versatile and explores an entire specter of emotions, beautiful and ugly alike.
> 
> I sincerely hope you'll like it.

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“ _Your new historical novel is going to be a bestseller. It’s only been available in stores and on the web for a few hours, but the sales are already soaring.”_

Because of the lump in her throat, Yori chose not to answer.

“ _I’m on a stake-out_ _in front of the book store. You know, the one facing our office. It just opened, and people are already swarming in.”_

She leaned on the opened window, mindless of the still sharp cold, and her eyes got lost in the distant countryside. On the horizon, behind the grey mist, a pale spring sun was struggling to rise. She took a deep breath, hoping that the quietness of her surroundings would soothe her fears. She whispered what she had been thinking for some time.

“I never should have started to write again.”

“ _Of course you should. You were born for this, Yori Wakaba. And you know it more than anyone else.”_

There was silence at the end of the line.

“ _Your fans – the true ones, not those there because of the scandal – never gave up on you over the past couple of years. And, believe me, they’re here, right in front of me, at the crack of dawn, to queue and buy your book. Young, old people. Students, mothers, retired people, people like you and me. They all come out with a smile. If you could see it, it would warm your heart.”_

Yori smirked. As always, her publisher knew how to choose her words, and this time again her optimism was contagious. Well, almost.

“People really want to know what happened two years ago. Even if my novel’s a fiction, they hope they’ll find answers.”

“ _We talked abo_ _ut this already, Yori. Of course the public wants to know, since the media never fail to mention your internment eve_ _ry time they write your name. Wait a few weeks, and they’ll finally have something else to say. How and why they loved or hated your book, how much it honours or scorns_ _your former tries. There will be pros and cons, as always but, most importantly, hard facts.”_

“...I don’t want to know what people will say.”

“ _Of course you do. Not right now, but in due time. As always. When it happens, call me back. I will give you an objective rundown; I know how you love them. For now, get some rest. Those few months of wrapping up have been draining for you, and you earned it.”_

A purring engine sound rose somewhere, the tell-tale sign of an approaching car. Yori frowned. In this deserted place, where she was the only living soul miles around, only the postman sometimes came, but it was far too early.

"I told you I didn't want to give any interviews, Mrs Hoshi."

Her publisher cleared her throat dismissively.

“ _Do you really think I would have given your address to a journalist? I value your peace just as you do. Why, is someone coming?”_

Phone in her hand, Yori watched the dirt trail leading to her small property, an old farmhouse she'd had renovated some years back thanks to her savings and money from her first books. Finally, a car appeared: a small sports car, a less than ideal choice to brave the roads around here, filled with rocks and ruts. Yori shook her head, intrigued: she knew her father had kept an eye on her for two years, but her "bodyguards" would never have shown themselves like this. And she wasn't expecting anyone. So who was it?

“ _Don’t worry. It must be our greatest shareholder’s son. He pressured us to know exactly where you are. I suppose he just wants to congratulate you in person.”_

“And he would have come all the way here? I have a phone, you know.”

“ _Only a landline, Yori. And only when you feel like picking up. The network is still inexistent around your house. For the rest of us who communicate through emails or video-conference, it’s something of a heresy.”_

The sports car passed the crumbling portal, steering gracefully in the small gravel-covered courtyard, and stopped before the front steps. The tinted glasses kept the driver, or the passengers, hidden.

“ _From what I gathered, he studied in the same academy as you. Who knows, it might do you some good to talk about the good old days.”_

Yori gave up trying to question her publisher, who was feigning surprise quite well, but probably wasn’t a stranger in this impromptu visit.

“I’ll leave you to it, Mrs Hoshi. Thank you for your work,” she concluded politely.

“ _Life goes on, Yori. Try to make the most of it.”_

The call ended on this enigmatic sentence. Yori hung up the phone just as the engine stopped, letting the quiet of the countryside take over once more. Seemingly impassive, Yori leaned on the second-floor window, filled with a small doubt. It disappeared as soon as the driver's door opened.

A young man exited the car, stretching blissfully, before instinctively looking up to her. Usually expressive and mischievous, his face immediately fell.

“Good morning.”

Yori clenched her fists, but only answered with a polite nod, her face unreadable. Memories she would have liked to forget were coming back to her, and she absolutely refused to show her turmoil.

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice, icy and deliberately loud, echoed in the country silence. He frowned.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your comeback. I’m sure it will be a hit.”

“There’s gift cards for that. You didn’t have to come here, without even announcing yourself.”

“But your publisher told me she would warn you.”

“My publisher is convinced that I can have a new social life if I’m pressed to it. She doesn’t know anything about what I really went through two years ago...with people like _you_.”

She had to fight herself to keep the same emotionless tone, far from her inner turmoil.

“Go away, Aido. I don’t want anything to do with any of you anymore.”

She stepped back and grabbed the window panes to close it.

“I’m sorry, Yori.”

The whisper, amplified by the echo of the small courtyard, stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I know it doesn’t change anything, but I will tell you again and again: I’m sorry.”

Hanabusa Aido’s voice was exceptionally humble and hesitant.

“I deeply regret what happened back there, two years ago. Had we acted sooner, we may have helped you...”

“I wouldn't have cared much for your help, or even your pity,” she answered coldly. “But your disdain, your hatred...I could have done without it.”

She stepped back again, and because they could no longer see each other, she put a hand on her lips, trying to hold back her nausea.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated in a whisper.

She took several small breaths.

“That’s enough. Go away.”

“Not before I’m sure that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” she groaned in an uneven voice. “I just wrote a new book. Everyone will tell you, I’m fine. Go away.”

She gritted her teeth, listened carefully. But there was no sound of gravel. He probably hadn’t moved. She carefully went back to the window, to close it and forget his very presence, but she was lacking the strength right now. Eyes riveted on the varnished floor, she narrowed her eyes, and despite herself, tears came, burning.

“You have no idea what it was like.”

Aido, unseen from where she stood, seemed to hesitate.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“My reputation’s destroyed. People judge me wherever I go...but it’s nothing compared to what I endured from you, the vampire aristocrats.”

“I’m aware of it.”

“Because I knew things you couldn’t accept about Kaname Kuran, Zero and Yuuki...”

Her voice gave out at her name. She hadn’t said it out loud for... a long time. Too long.

“Because I’m insignificant, but I said I remembered what they really went through. You chose to deny everything. You didn’t even try to understand how I could know all of this. Because of your stupid fidelity to a preconceived idea of the Purebloods, you turned your back on me, and the entire Night World pushed me away.”

“I apologize...”

“ **Shut up! I don’t care about your excuses!”**

A deep silence followed her impromptu speech. Far from calming her, it only made her angrier. She turned her back to the window and hugged herself, slid against the wall to the floor.

“Me, I just wanted...just wanted to make everything go away!”

She curled up on herself, her throat on fire, her chest aching from holding back her tears.

“No one else would have read what I wrote about them, I would have burnt everything in due time...I just wanted to do it for their sake. For them, to honour them...to free me from all this!”

Her trembling voice became sharp, and she forgot her natural ability to remain impassive, surprised by her own rage.

“Now my own family thinks I’m crazy, and I’ll never be able to live normally. Because of those memories haunting me, this memory I can’t even exorcise by writing anymore, because they might lock me away again! **Because of you all!** ”

She was screaming out loud now, unable to stop. Burning tears, which she had held back for months under her impassive mask, were now streaming down her tensed cheeks. Powerless, she saw Ruka Souen's disgusted face again, Akatsuki Kain's elusive gaze. The disdain and rejection she went through. She thought she could still smell the hospital, the cold white walls, the disgusting taste of the medication. She could still feel the presence of the doctors recruited by her father, vampires or humans, who tried to pry Yuuki's secrets out of her or to bury them under the idea they had of Purebloods.

“You accused me of lies and treason. You made me pass as a madwoman...and I almost became one…!”

She finally burst into tears, and she cried for a long, long time, like an abandoned child, focused on her sorrow and nothing else.

Minutes passed. When finally her tears stopped, sun rays were starting to pierce the clouds, warming the room. Blinking, she finally listened up: outside of her sniffing, there was complete silence. Aido certainly left with the sunrise. Good.

She threw her head back against the wall, took deep shaking breaths.

“I almost became insane...but I’m not. I’m not. I know too much, that’s all. And I never wanted it.”

A small brown-haired silhouette awoke in a corner of her mind, approached her like a kind and curious child, eager to share a memory.

“No, Yuuki,” she whispered to herself. “Not anymore. That’s enough.”

She smiled bitterly, and, gently but firmly, pushed away the memory. Docile, it returned to nothingness. Only remained a cruel feeling of absence and incompleteness, closely linked to the _mourning_ she carried for many years. Yori hoped she would one day get used to it.

She didn’t have a choice...

She wiped her tears, rubbed her reddened eyes dry, blew her nose. Then, stumbling a bit, she got up to close the window.

And, to her surprise, Aido was still staring at her from the courtyard. Under the now strong morning sun, the young vampire lowered the hand he held above his eyes to protect his sight from daylight. A useless gesture, if his reddened eyes and the few damp trails on his temples were to be believed. The pale skin of his cheeks was already turning pink, just like his neck and arms, left bare by his shirt.

Wordlessly, they studied each other. Then Aido’s blue eyes blinked, and, when she thought he was about to turn back, dropped his briefcase, and it fell on the gravel with a muffled sound. Head down, he kneeled, and, mindless of the dust already staining his trousers, placed his hands before him, bowed until his reddened-forehead brushed the ground, and stood still.

Yori looked at him in silence, seemingly insensible. But she knew. She knew, beyond the pain a vampire-born felt by standing there in broad daylight, how unnatural – and _humiliating_ – it was for an Aristocrat such as Aido to beg for forgiveness face down.

“That’s enough,” she whispered once more, to him this time. “Stand up.”

But Aido did not move. After a few moments, he whispered:

“I can’t turn back what has been done. I can’t make amends in the name of my friends. I can only speak for myself. I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.”

She waited, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“There was enough truth in what you said then to convince us. We were all close to the Kurans, and deep inside, we knew. But to accept it was beyond us. As for myself, I was too much of a coward to publicly admit that I believed you. I’m sorry.”

She sighed, her mind clear now that her tears had stopped and her scorn had been said out loud. Or was she simply growing indifferent? Perhaps a bit of both.

“Stand up, Aido.”

And, since he still wasn’t moving, she leaned to the windowsill.

“If you want my forgiveness, you shall not have it today. But...I’ll think about it. One day, maybe.”

At first, she thought that her hesitant words would remain ineffective. Then he shuddered and, hesitant, stood up on his knees, his shoulders slumped.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he whispered. “But I sincerely hope that this day will come.”

She shook her head, incredulous.

“Aido...why are you doing all this?”

On his chastened face, humbly lowered, she thought she could see this spark of mischievousness and boundless admiration he sometimes had, back at the Academy, in front of Kaname. A spark which was still tarnished, with sadness, resignation.

“Out of respect for Kaname-sama. Out of duty toward Yuuki-sama. Blame this “stupid faithfulness” we all feel for our Purebloods, like you said,” he added in a joking tone, yet more sheepish than happy. “But in my case, I knew it went far beyond simple instinct or obligation. I adored Kaname, from the bottom of my heart. Yuuki, too. I would have died for them.”

Yori didn’t nod, but she knew he was telling the truth. She _remembered_ all too well the Academy incident, when Rido had reappeared, and his abnegation in helping Yuuki that day.

“I’m here...because Yuuki would have wanted you to be looked after, especially now that she’s gone. Although I know I’m no longer worthy of it, I have to honour her will.”

He nodded, hesitated then blinked, the sunburn on his cheekbones suddenly even redder. Yori raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“And also because I wanted to see you, Yori. I miss our conversations.”

The young woman took a deep breath, troubled. She remembered that distant time, when Yuuki and Zero were still there, driven by the same goal: to find Kaname's murderer. That era, albeit stormy, for it was just a few months after the Reveal, suddenly seemed particularly normal to her...she even missed it. A distant time, when Aido and her worked together for Kaien Kurosu...

“If you feel like it, Mister Aido, I don’t know how I can stop you,” she snapped back at him, tongue in cheek, finally showing the expected politeness.

She let her eyes wander around him, before continuing:

“So, if you came here, it wasn’t for an autograph.”

Just like she expected, Aido looked at her in incomprehension before following her gaze. His briefcase, by falling a few minutes earlier, had opened and let escape several books, one of which had a familiar cover – Yori’s newest novel, published this very morning. The young vampire went even redder, gripped his briefcase and started to pick up the books.

“I didn’t know you liked this kind of historical fiction,” Yori said in all seriousness. “I hope you won’t get bored.”

Stiffened by shame, Aido whispered, almost grumbling, avoiding her gaze.

“I already read it. I’ve had the digital copy since last week. A perk of being my father’s son, I suppose.”

He took a deep breath as if to calm down, and nervously ran his hand through his blond hair.

“Your last saga is still my favourite. But your latest novel has an interesting setting. The characters are more complex, their personalities in half-tone. I like it. Who knows, if your book gets a sequel this good, I might change my mind.”

Yori remained speechless for several long seconds, seemingly indifferent, in truth not knowing what to do. Was he trying to compliment her? If that was the case, it was quite different from this charming attitude he had mastered, which had earned him the nickname “Idol” by the Day Class girls.

But the Academy was far, so far away now...they had all changed. She sighed, her head suddenly feeling heavy.

“If you want, come back with your favourite book, when you have the time. You could tell me what you like so much about it...”

It had been several years since she’d had any exchange with someone besides her publishing assistant on her manuscripts, and she had to admit she sometimes missed having a new outsider point of view on her stories. She realized too late what she had implied: that he could come back to see her.

A proposal which hadn’t escaped him, according to Aido’s surprised gaze, still kneeling down.

“Maybe...next week? If you don’t mind,” he hurriedly added before Yori’s intransigent pout.

“...Why not?”

His smile broadened, and he who until then was stiff under the sunlight seemed to relax for a moment. She, on the other hand, couldn't ignore his redness anymore from up there, and she already knew how much he would suffer from it in a few hours.

“Now, go away, Mister Aido.”

He nodded, before getting up carefully. Mindless of the white dust on his hands and clothes, he went back to his car. Just before entering it, he looked at her one last time and bowed like the aristocrat he was, yet with a strange gaze. Almost thankful.

“Miss.”

She nodded slightly, then closed the window and stepped back, waiting for the engine sound to fade away before she went back to it. The sun was shining now on the green late spring countryside. A light yet painful to her eyes, still sore from the crying. She pulled the curtains.

In the peaceful silence of the house, Aido's voice still seemed to echo in her ears. She thought about how he was about to disturb her again in one week, and she didn't know what to think of it.

After a small hesitation, she chose to smile.

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**Chapter 11**

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_**Uncertainly** _

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“Yori?”

Unsurprisingly, Aido received no answer: there was no one in the small library, her refuge for so many years. Despite his natural curiosity – and, he had to admit, his overprotective side – he chose not to enter this sanctuary and glance at her desk. He closed the door, muffled a long yawn while loosening his tie, ran a tired hand through his blond hair. Then he opened his senses to the entire house. A soft breath drew his attention, and he walked up the darkened corridor.

The bedroom door was wide open. His eyes slid over the untouched bed, the small neatly organized writing desk in a corner of the room, then stopped on the alcove and its armchair, dimly lit by the dawn. With a tender smile he never showed in public, he leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms, watching her with impunity.

Curled up in the armchair, Yori was sleeping soundly, a heavy leather-bound tome on her lap. One of her arms was laying on the armrest, her slender graceful hand palm up, innocently revealing her wrist. He could see her artery beating. At the moment, he didn’t know what filled him more with pride and desire: this delicate zone offered like this, meant for kisses and _more_ , or the platinum wedding ring on her finger, mirroring his. A silent symbol that they belonged to each other. Dreamily, he shook his head and raised his eyebrows: here he was, head in the clouds.

At the foot of the armchair, he noticed a pencil, its nib broken by a fall. Curbing the enthusiasm already pounding in his canines, he approached in silence and observed the sleeping woman objectively.

She looked healthy: her breath was quiet and serene, her cheeks pink, the shadows under her eyes barely noticeable. Her clothes were clean and neat, and her clear skin still exhaled, apart from her natural fragrance – _stay impartial, Aido!_ – a delicate soap smell. Her copper-coloured bangs, still slightly damp, hinted at a recent shower, which she had probably taken at the end of the night, before sitting here until falling asleep on her sketches.

Aido lowered his eyelids and sighed softly, relieved. Even if he trusted her, it didn’t stop him from worrying about her every time he had to leave for a few days because of his work. When inspiration struck, she sometimes forgot to eat or sleep. And since she was back again at _this old project_ , he feared things may worsen...

If he could, he would have stopped travelling abroad, maybe even working away from home, to stay by her side until the end of this project – if an ending was possible. Alas, while his family fortune could easily allow it, he feared that such a sudden change on his part, he who could never stay in place, would raise suspicions about Yori. After all, she wasn’t supposed to explore these memories she had unwillingly received. And her first try had led to a dark end, seven years ago...

He chose to chase away this shadow from his mind, convinced she knew what she was doing. Despite himself, his eyes slid over the heavy tome she kept open on her lap. Some paragraphs in small writing, and a sketch which drew his attention: two people hugging, shrouded in darkness, both tender and respectful. The only one whose face was visible – a forty-something man – had a saddened expression behind his small glasses. The former headmaster of the Academy, Kaien Kurosu.

The other person’s face wasn’t visible, but Aido easily recognized her, with her long brown hair and her below-average height, but also this strange and indescribable presence Yori managed to inspire in all her sketches. Yuuki Kuran.

This picture of the father and her adoptive daughter wasn’t filled with details, and yet Kaien’s expression was striking with realism, full of nostalgia, sadness and fatherly love. With a heartache, Aido turned away from what was far more than a drawing; a memory, but also a tangible representation of two personalities, united by a strong link and singular sentiments.

Another sketch, on a paper sheet, was lying on the armrest, half-hidden by Yori’s right hand. Aido studied the unknown landscape: a snowy garden, a small residential house. A strange shudder ran through him, and yet he couldn’t tell why. Was it because of the dark windows, the door left ajar in the black night?

He let go of the paper and picked up the pencil on the floor, placed it inside the book before closing it carefully. Yori barely flinched when the weight of the book – quite consequentially, as he realized with surprise – left her lap, and, chuckling silently, he put it on a small pedestal table. He then noticed a sketchbook. It had been left here for him, if the note was to be believed.

 

“ _Because your stubbornness can sometimes be a blessing, Mister Aido…_

_Sometimes.”_

 

Because he knew her more than anyone else, he felt easily the tender irony in the “sometimes”, added at the last minute, as well as the sweetness hidden in this politeness. He opened the notebook and stared, flabbergasted, at the illustration on the first page. Thanks to small crucial details, he recognized the small courtyard of their house, probably seen from the second-floor window. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, he immediately recognized himself, a few years younger, according to his clothes and his ruffled hair, blown by an invisible wind. Face up to the sky, standing straight, he seemed to stare at the one holding the sketch stubbornly, defiant, as if about to declaim something grandiloquent…

Aido stopped himself from smiling as he remembered the moments the sketch could be referencing. His first visit, six years ago? The second one, a week later? No, he knew Yori and her almost-obsessive sense of detail, and there was no book nor briefcase. Another one of their numerous meetings then...

The time when, after dissecting every newspaper he could get his hands on, he brought the greatest praises of Yori’s new book? In order to convince her of the enthusiasm the outside world still felt about her, she who seemed willing to live as a recluse for the rest of her days. A ridiculously high pile of articles, now that he thought of it...

Was it an illustration of the day, much later, when Yori finally agreed to let him in?

Or the one when, gleefully obeying her editor’s order, he led the young woman – who followed him with a bit of reluctance – to receive her first prize as an accomplished writer?

The time when, about to leave, he heard her mention from up her window a family gathering, and whispered her wish for him to maybe come with her…?

Those darkest days when she willingly isolated herself, like the anniversaries of Yuuki’s disappearance, or Zero’s? A day like her first _relapse_? No. He couldn’t tell how or why, but the sketch line seemed light, bright.

Nothing in this sketch reminded him of one of those various memories. Yet he suspected her to have left one tiny detail, something only he could understand. So, when he paid closer attention to the clenched hands of his paper doppelgänger and saw not a shadow like he first thought, but a small black velvet box, he couldn't help but smile.

On his finger, it seemed he could feel the wedding ring becoming warmer for a second.

On the back of the sketch, Yori had written in her fine writing.

 

“ _For every painful memory,_

_Thanks to you, I could write a dozen better ones."_

“ _Happy birthday...”_

 

An unknown story was written over several pages, more structured. Silently, he sat on the end of the bed and, smiling, began to read.

.

Aido chuckled several times. Once, Yori lazily opened one eye and, still wrapped up in sleep, watched him from between her eyelashes. The young woman had never been good with spoken word, and to say clearly what she felt, she could only use writing. Those memories were hers, and it had been a joy to write them down. To her great relief, Aido had just as much pleasure in rediscovering those shared moments through her eyes.

When she was about to close her eyelids, she stroked the paper still under her hand. Her eyes became duller as she stared at the dark house. As if called by the drawing, a memory went up, gloomy, stranger than the others. It wasn't from Yuuki or Zero. A stark cold slowly shrouded her, as a muffled and repeated sound came up, heavy steps in fresh snow. A clingy tobacco smell invaded her senses.

She closed her eyes and, comforted by Aido’s presence, let herself go into the new reminiscence.

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“ _I’m coming as fast as I can. Wait for reinforcement, Yagari-san.”_

“I don’t fucking care. I’m going in, Kaien. Over.”

Ignoring his former colleague’s warnings, Toga Yagari cut off the com. Putting his phone in a pocket of his black coat, he made sure that his anti-vampire rifle was loaded, then put it back over his shoulder to be able to use it quickly if needed. Since he was about to operate indoors, he would rather use a handgun, easier to handle, and as such pulled an Association-marked revolver from his chest holster.

He glanced one last time at the house he was about to enter. While night was beginning to fall, there was no light at the windows. It had been snowing since the morning, but no footsteps in the ally leading to the entrance of the silent house. For a short moment, the armed, wary man tried to catch a movement, a silhouette behind the window, anything to prove there was still hope, still life in this house, inhabited until now by a couple and their two children.

But nothing was moving. So, reluctantly, grave-faced and on the lookout, Yagari stepped toward the deserted house and the door, ajar despite the winter. An unusual, blood-curdling detail he had noticed when he first arrived.

The puddle of red, coagulated liquid on the doorstep only reinforced this sinister conviction...

Slowly, the hunter climbed up the few steps, on the lookout for any noise in the silent house. After a short breath, he pushed the door open with his shoulder. He raised his gun, watchful, but the corridor entrance was deserted.

The house was cold, which proved that it had been open to the winds for quite some time. His eyes methodically explored the first rooms, before going up the corridor slowly. Shattered glass, china, plaster and wood splattered the varnished floor, screeching under each of his steps. On the wall, the curtains were in shreds, the few picture frames torn and thrown to the ground, and he recognized with despair the well-known burn marks of anti-vampire weapons. The silence was deafening in his ears.

At the end of the corridor, a door ajar led to the living room. The panel was slashed with a dark red arabesque, cruelly portentous. Despite the cold, the smell of blood was everywhere and, even if he was used to it, Yagari found it unbearable. Heavy-hearted, he pushed the door open and stepped into the main room, also wreaked in havoc. And, unsurprisingly, he discovered the two bodies, bathed in their own blood.

“Shit…!”

He looked around to secure the room then lowered his weapon, pallid. Led by a weak hope, he knelt near the first body lying face-down, tried to look for a pulse. But mere contact brought him back to reality: the woman was stiff, as cold as the rest of the room. He looked at her husband, lying near her: glassy-eyed, his throat had been slashed open, and coagulated blood had flown from it. There was nothing else to do.

Yagari looked in horror at two of the Association’s best elements, his colleagues and, more than that, his friends. The Kiryus. Rei and Elena. Murdered.

But, what about their sons?

Struck down by this thought, Yagari looked up to study the room more carefully, already afraid to find two other bodies. He then heard a clicking sound. A metallic hiss. Behind him.

“She took Ichiru.”

Yagari shuddered despite himself. The voice was young and familiar, but shaking, disincarnate.

Slowly, he turned toward it.

Standing in the door frame, mindless of the splatters on the walls, a teenager was aiming at him with a silver gun. Wild-eyed, his anthracite, messy hair plastered on his pallid face, he seemed elsewhere, barely aware of what was happening around him. On his skin, a myriad of crimson drops had dried up, as if he never thought to wipe them away.

His clothes were stained with blood – his blood, according to the scarlet stain soaking his shirt from his injured neck to his left sleeve. Fearing a mortal wound, Yagari became worried.

“Zero! You’re hurt?”

He made a slight movement. At once, the teenager flinched and tightened his grip on his father’s weapon. His amethyst-coloured eyes widened, empty and terrifying.

“She took Ichiru...He must be...dead, by now...”

His voice broke on these words. He stumbled on his feet, looking exhausted and freezing. He closed his eyes but kept the gun up. Speechless, Yagari restrained himself from moving.

“Zero. Look at me.”

The teenager obeyed with difficulty, out of breath. He looked unable to focus.

“It’s me. Yagari. Your teacher.”

Zero’s hands clenched convulsively on the gun, but he stared at the hunter and, after several never-ending seconds, finally seemed to recognize him.

“M…Master...”

With a ragged breath, Zero looked at the bodies in the living room, and his gaze stayed a prisoner of this macabre sight. Something broke then in those until then indifferent eyes, and nervous tears slid down his cheeks, reddened by the blood on his face.

“He’s...he’s dead. They’re...all...”

Finally Zero lowered his weapon. It slid from his trembling fingers and fell on the floor. Immediately Yagari approached him.

“...All...dead.”

Yagari put his rifle down, took off his coat to cover the pallid, frozen teenager, before examining the wound – the _bite_ – on his neck: already coagulated, it wasn’t bleeding anymore. How long had Zero been wandering like this, losing blood?

Indifferent to his teacher's questions and his own wound, Zero kept his empty eyes on his parents. When Yagari tried to lead him somewhere to look for a makeshift bandage, he didn't resist.

.

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The house was filled with agitation as a dozen hunters and experts secured the place and began looking for clues. In an untouched room, deliberately away from all the fuss, Toga Yagari kept thinking about his own pieces of information, determined to carve into his memory everything he saw at the crime scene. Later, the smallest detail could be crucial.

He glanced at Zero, who more or less told him what had happened, before falling into a stubborn silence when the other hunters arrived. Sitting on a couch, wrapped in a blanket, the teenager was staring down, empty-eyed. He didn't react when, in a metallic creak, two empty stretchers passed through the corridor. Yagari closed his one good eye and gave a silent, final greeting to his late friends.

“We will find the one who did this, Zero.”

In a comforting gesture, he tried to grab the teenager’s unharmed shoulder. But at his touch, Zero curled up on himself, breathless. Wordlessly, he brought his knees to his torso, put his forehead on them and stopped moving.

At the same moment, another car parked in the small courtyard before the house. Yagari recognized it by glancing at the window and, heavy-hearted, he left the room, calling out to a passing hunter.

“Stay with him, but don’t let anyone touch him or speak to him without my or Kaien’s permission.”

The hunter nodded, then went to place himself at a respectful distance from the teenager. After one last look at his apprentice, still curled up underneath his blanket, Yagari walked up the corridor and went out on the front step. A long-haired man with ash-blond hair got out of the car. His small glasses kept sliding on his aquiline nose as he hurried up the steps. He met Yagari's inquisitive gaze and, frozen, the newcomer questioned him hastily.

“Rei? Elena? The twins?”

Yagari just shook his head. Kaien Kurosu's amber eyes were veiled.

“Zero’s wounded, in shock, but alive,” the one-eyed man added. “We can’t find Ichiru.”

Kaien closed his eyes for a few seconds and furrowed his brow, fists clenched.

“This is a nightmare...”

A legendary icon of the Association, Kaien Kurosu had a reputation to maintain and couldn't let himself slip in public. Yet he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, lips pursed: he once was Rei and Elena Kiryu's teacher and had become one of their closest friends. Yagari looked away, eager too to let out his rage and sadness. But to lose their temper in such a moment would have been a poor tribute to their late colleagues, known for their conscientiousness and their sense of duty.

Suddenly, Kaien shuddered and brutally opened his eyes. Out of reflex, he put his hand on his cane, as if about to unsheathe the sword hidden in it.

“You already caught the vampire who did this?”

Surprised, Yagari shook his head.

“Except for Zero, the house was empty. We’ve barely begun the investigation. The coroner just arrived...”

He stopped, alarmed: Kaien, though more lucid, was paler than usual.

“...So it’s not by chance that they left a survivor.”

With these words, he entered the house, followed by a stunned Yagari. With quick but unerring steps, his elder walked directly to the room where was. He stayed in the door frame, his lips parted in a stunned sigh.

“Yagari...a Pureblood did this.”

He whispered so softly that no one but Yagari could hear him, and finally he _understood_ . Nauseous, appalled, he looked at the teenager then at his colleague, whose face was filled with a muffled sadness. Kaien Kurosu was one of the only hunters, to this day, who could, without fail, discern the true nature of a _vampire_.

At the end of the room, Zero shuddered, then looked up and, impervious, stared back at him. On his neck, still stained with blood, the deep bite was already healing.

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“ **You’re lying!”**

The furious scream filled the usually quiet study. The teenager looked at the two adults, who remained silent. Zero shook his head, stepped back until his back was to the panelled wall.

“It’s not true. It’s impossible…!”

But in the appalled teenager’s amethyst eyes, incredulity was slowly replaced by doubt, then a terrifying certainty. The news had just come out; the one who bit him, who slaughtered his family and took Ichiru, was, according to the first reports, a Pureblood. And he, as a son of hunters, knew all too well what it meant...

He wasn’t really human anymore, ever since the stranger’s fangs had pierced his skin.

He put a tensed hand to his now-healed neck, and tears suddenly ran on his hollow cheeks. Yagari looked away. Seemingly impassive, Kaien was shattered.

For a few moments, only Zero’s stunned whisper broke the deep silence.

“No!...No…!”

Kaien Kurosu’s shoulder slumped, sincerely affected.

“I’m sorry, Zero. Time is of the essence, and the process probably already started. But everything’s not lost.”

“The… “process”?”

The teenager stared at him with consternation, as if he didn’t understand. Yagari walked to his student, who looked for an explanation in his single eye.

“You’re going to become a Level E, Zero. That’s what happens sooner or later to humans turned vampire.”

The teenager froze, devastated. Kaien stood up from his desk chair, irate, and tried to confront his colleague’s lack of tact.

“Yagari! Surely there’s a way to...”

“Kaien, you’ve been coddling him for a week now, but you have to start facing the facts!”

The hunter had a second of inattention, and suddenly a hand closed on the grip of the revolver on his hip. Quick as lighting, he grabbed the weapon the moment it left the holster, held the safety on as he ruthlessly grabbed Zero’s arm.

“But what the fuck are you doing?” he cried out, nervous.

The teenager glared at him, distraught, and tried to pull away in vain.

“And you, what are you waiting for? You have to shoot me down!”

Filled with unsuspected strength, the teen broke away from his grasp and tried to grab the anti-vampire gun. After a short struggle, Yagari had no other choice but to throw the weapon behind him, out of reach, and push away the frenzied boy, who hit the wall violently. Out of breath, Zero stayed still for a few seconds, stunned.

“You idiot!”

Yagari took a deep breath to try and calm down. Behind his desk, Kaien remained frozen. A heavy silence set in, only broke by Zero’s ragged breath – or was it whimpers?

“There are ways to slow down the degeneration,” Yagari finally carried on, on a lower tone. “The Association can help you to...”

“ **Go fuck yourself!”**

Zero straightened up, his eyes gleaming with fury. The state of apathy he was under since his parents’ murder seemed now but a pale memory. Shaking, drenched in sweat because of his anger, he hit the wall so violently the wood panels creaked.

“You and the Association, you can go fuck yourselves! My family has been slaughtered, just because my parents were hunters! I don’t want anything to do with any of you! **Never**!”

And, on this final insult, Zero left Kaien’s study without looking back. His steps echoed in the corridor, then the door of his room slammed violently. Yagari briefly closed his eye, sighed deeply. Then he picked up the gun, furious at himself for not having been able to foresee his student’s desperate act.

Behind the desk, Kaien shook his head guiltily.

“What were you thinking, Yagari? To say it to him like this, it was too rash...”

Annoyed, he put back the weapon in his holster, trying to remain calm in his gestures.

“What’s done is done. No need to dwell on it. You still want to keep him with you?”

The gruff question made Kaien Kurosu flinch. Behind his small glasses, his gaze was hurt to see him being doubted like this.

“Of course,” he whispered with conviction. “His parents were my friends. To give him up is out of the question.”

Yagari nodded appreciatively at this.

“Then lock away all your weapons and sharp objects, anti-vampire or not. Knowing Zero, you’ll have to be careful for some time.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small break before exploring further our characters' past...Did you like this jump into troubled waters?
> 
> I'm happy to see each week the number of readers slowly, but surely going up. The silence that follows each chapter is nonetheless quite hard for me. Please, keep in mind that this story means very much to me. Nothing would please me more than to read from you, listen to your theories - who killed Kaname? What secrets does Yuuki still keep? Will she finally see eye to eye with Zero?
> 
> Thank you for your faithfulness, and I hope to hear from you soon.
> 
> Love  
> Elenthya - Words & Worlds Team


	20. Chapter Eleven: Uncertainly - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages." - William Shakespeare

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The sun was finally rising over Lisenthard.

Shy, the morning star was struggling to pierce the clouds, shining a pale light on the deserted streets, the exceptionally quiet port. A deep silence reigned over the docks. No boat was casting off as was usually the case at the break of dawn. Behind the curtained windows and the cracks of the shade, the inhabitants were waiting, worried.

An alarm rang, not the same one that rang that night to signal imminent danger and remind everyone to stay watchful, locked in their homes. The siren lifting the curfew screamed for one minute, and went off without any change. Then, like someone awakening from an overly deep slumber, the city slowly began to move: workers and dockers exited their houses, shared puzzled or relieved gazes, before going to the harbour and its warehouses. Schoolboys and students filled the streets, running and horsing around as though nothing had happened. Shopkeepers opened their shops and unfurled their stalls before calling out to passers-by with eagerness, proud of their products and determined to make up for lost time. Sailors emerged on the bridges of previously quarantined boats, prepared the sails, checked the nets before casting off. The train station, deep in an unusual torpor, reopened its doors so that the first trains could align on the platforms, releasing a crowd of travellers, happy to have finally arrived.

Soon the streets were buzzing with activity as the entire Lisenthard population, as if filled with a singular haste, seemed to deny last night’s fear and anguish, to prove to anyone who might listen that life was carrying on, bravely. Because after all, never mind the creatures prowling in darkness: the comforting light of day could only keep them at bay.

Yet one of the squares meant for the fishermen’s market remained closed to the public, and soon the rumour of the slaughter that took place there spread, swelled up, became more and more extraordinary as the sun rose in the sky.

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Now that it was daytime, people were able to take pictures, and the authorities were barely starting to gather the bodies. Although the population was forbidden to cross the square, many inhabitants hurried to the windows of the neighbouring buildings or the police barrages, to watch the policemen and militiamen come and go. Out of respect for the victims, and to preserve the younger ones’ innocence, the bodies had been covered up – or at least, an attempt had been made. But it was a pitiful effort since some of the corpses were quite splattered...and on the other hand, even after the coroners had left, the bloodstained snow kept proving the horror of the massacre that had taken place a few hours ago.

Calm and collected, Toga Yagari watched, impassive, over the small square which reminded him of so many other crime scenes, all alike in their profusion of blood and bodies. But, while his expert eye tried to trace back a chronology of what happened – who died first, who tried to run, who tried to fight back – he had to admit that this scene was one of the most impressive he had ever seen.

The savagery and bloodlust were tangible, and yet the victims’ wounds were precise, calculated. They betrayed a kind of dexterity, an instinctive mastery of the art of torture and bloodshed. According to him, the culprit wasn’t a Level E, as the Militia thought: it was too precise, too steady to be the work of a frenzied vampire, not even an Aristocrat. According to the number of simultaneous victims, only a Pureblood could have the strength and the ability to commit such a massacre...

And, as far as he knew, no Pureblood was around here officially.

Deep in thought, Yagari glanced at his satellite phone, old and obsolete, and yet the only kind of device to work in such remote locations. Kaien Kurosu had slipped away half an hour ago, led by his heightened senses on Yuuki’s trail. The one-eyed man only hoped that his eccentric colleague – and friend – wouldn’t overestimate his capacities, or his trust in the Young Pureblood, and would call him if the situation were to turn sour.

After all, if someone was still doubting Yuuki Kuran’s abilities, they just had to glance at this small square scattered with bodies and blood to be proved wrong.

“Hey, Yagari. Didn’t think the Association would send you.”

He reluctantly put his stormy thoughts aside. A man, older than him by a good fifteen years, was walking with a heavy step in his direction, and though he looked tired, his grey eyes remained piercing. Respectfully, Yagari shook his hand.

“Dunham. Long time no see. I wish it could have been in different circumstances.”

The former hunter, sometimes nicknamed “The Butcher”, after one of his covers, smiled at him weakly. On his hip, hidden underneath his black coat, a beautiful anti-vampire gun was shining, of such craftsmanship that Yagari couldn’t have a doubt of its creator: the man, turned gunsmith for the Association, had grown older but hadn’t lost any of his talent.

“So do I, my friend,” the Butcher sighed. “It’s as if there’s got to be a vampire rampage for us to meet. Did my men put you in the know?”

Yagari nodded.

“You trained them well. For volunteer civilians, they know how to make a decent report.”

“Oh, that may be true for the lieutenants under my command,” the Butcher replied while looking critically at his subordinates working not far away. “For the others, I can’t really influence their actions, and believe me, it’s not that I don’t want to. The Militia is far from a model of discipline and experience. We do what we can with what we have.”

“My condolences for your men,” Yagari whispered, gesturing with his chin at the draped-over bodies scattered on the square. “It was an entire squad, right?”

The Butcher winced, strangely disdainful.

“That’s what we thought at first, since they wore Militia armbands and had similar weapons. They even had walkie-talkies set to our frequency. But we just finished roll-call: no one’s missing. For now, those victims are totally unknown.”

“Which means?”

“Unlike the rumours going around in town, the Militia doesn’t accept anyone in its ranks. Well, maybe it was the case at first, but not since I joined command, I made sure of that. Troublemakers, wannabe criminals and the ones who just want an armband to boss people around are systematically turned down and punished. As a result, some of them want to make justice by themselves, and they’re sometimes quite well organized. You might imagine that these groups aren’t models of virtue or generosity. And the Militia has well enough to do as it is without having to manage this bad press.”

The Militia captain stared at the covered bodies, his grey eyes more disdainful than ever.

“I’m only at the beginning of my investigation, but I suspect this batch to be the one responsible of theft and sexual assault, along with abuse of power on civilian women. And I have three missing twenty-year-old women this month alone. They all had to leave their home for an urgent errand before curfew but never came home. Some people said they saw one of them being taken away by a Militia squad, but we have no record of it in our archives. And no one dares to openly testify out of fear of retaliation. According to our first observations, this ghost brigade might be those poor devils over there. If they are, I must tell you this crazy vampire got me out of a pretty tight spot. And maybe scumbags like these will think twice before strutting around in my streets with the Militia armband as a safe-conduct.”

Yagari said nothing, all ears: the victims may not have been completely innocent, and while it didn’t excuse Yuuki’s actions in the least, at least it gave him the start of an explanation. If they really went after a Pureblood woman’s virtue...the idiots!

The Butcher sighed tiredly, and his attention went back to his colleague.

“My understanding was that you didn’t come to Lisenthard alone. Is Kaien Kurosu around?”

“He follows his own trails. As soon as we know more, I’ll send our conclusions.”

“You’ve arrived quite quickly, even if it isn’t your everyday case. Is it Tristahn Kelos who informed you?”

Yagari frowned a bit, surprised by his colleague’s sudden suspicious tone. He weighted the pros and cons for one second.

“Indeed. He was chasing one of his targets. It probably led him here.”

“Give it to me straight, Yagari. Does he have a link, whatever may be, with this massacre?”

“No idea. He hasn’t turned in his report yet. But you should know it’s unlike him to leave behind such botched-up work. You should ask him in person.”

“Yeah...but I’m not really part of the Association anymore, you know it as well as I do. That means he doesn’t have to answer to me. But, as a friend and former colleague, Yagari, let me tell you something: my business wasn’t going too bad before that hunted vampire came by. The Militia may not have the Association’s means or influence, but it does a pretty good job and Level E crimes are rare now. I would like it if you wouldn’t put me aside of your little schemes when my town and its people’s safety are concerned.”

Yagari listened in silence, his face unreadable despite his colleague’s vaguely menacing tone.

“And while you’re at it, say to your superiors that the man who calls himself Tristahn Kelos is no longer welcome around here.”

“Last time he saved your niece Elora, and you said you owed him one. Where does this new animosity come from, Butcher?”

The former hunter shrugged with indifference. His piercing gaze seemed almost white, unreadable.

“Ask him why, sometime. You’re his superior. He’ll have to answer to you.”

He nodded toward the crowd gathering behind them. Yagari followed his gaze and saw Zero who, impassive, was showing his papers to a policeman. As if warned by a sixth sense, the young hunter looked up at his two elders. His amethyst eyes seemed to harden when he saw the Butcher: he nodded politely but received no answer, then came back to his discussion with the policeman as if nothing happened.

The Butcher groaned gruffly. Surprised, Yagari saw him hesitate between a scornful grimace and a more ambivalent expression, almost cautious.

“I have to leave, Yagari. Thank you for letting me know what you find.”

The two veterans shook hands again, then, after one last piercing gaze toward the police barrage, the Butcher walked away with his heavy step. Suspicious, Yagari pulled out a cigarette, then realized just before lightning it that he shouldn’t antagonize the Militia by polluting their crime scene. Mumbling, he put away his lighter and let his mind wander as he watched every detail of the small square, carving them in his memory.

After a few minutes, he heard his student’s light, determined steps.

“Master.”

“Zero.”

As usual, the young man placed himself at his level, though at a respectful distance, and watched the squared scattered with sheets and red stains. Yagari took advantage of it to glance at him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for his reaction. It unsettled him to note that Zero looked concerned, but unsurprised, like someone rediscovering the macabre scene.

“Since when are you in Lisenthard?”

“Last night. Kaien Kurosu’s here too. He went to find Yuuki.”

Zero frowned, shaken. Then he seemed to realize something, and briefly closed his eyes.

“You could locate us because I broke the seal of the tunnels?”

“That’s right. It’s her, the one who did this?”

Zero didn’t answer for obvious reasons, but his silence and his fleeting gaze were eloquent. Yagari sighed tiredly then summed up everything the Butcher told him about the disappearances and assaults in the neighbourhood.

“So it would seem those men weren’t really militiamen, but criminals and presumed rapists posing as such. You’re free to consider what Yuuki did as legitimate defence, but from experience, I wouldn’t bet on the survival of someone trying to take on a Pureblood like this.”

Zero deigned to glance at him in vague surprise, then looked at the carnage with a new eye. Yagari sneered.

“Come on, let’s move. Kaien’s probably heading to our hiding place. We have lots of things to discuss, and there’s too many ears around here. Meet me in one hour, where we talked last time.”

He turned away from the macabre scene he had now memorized, and walked to the police barrage. After one minute, Zero followed him in silence.

Out of habit, the former master and student mingled with the crowd and split up, taking different routes, deliberately random, to lose any suspicious militiamen. An unavoidable but ultimately unnecessary measure, as most of the police force was for now focused on the Lisenthard port, busy searching the perimeter for clues that Yagari, fearing they might lead to Zero’s trail, had carefully erased during the night.

One hour later, once they were both sure they hadn’t been followed, the two hunters met as planned in Lisenthard business district, deserted so early in the morning. Zero expected to go to the Association embassy, where Elora Dunham’s trial took place two years ago. But Yagari gestured him to follow him, before walking into a darkened alley.

The old part of town was a maze perpetually darkened by the high, century-old houses. Yet, Yagari’s photographic memory allowed him to find his way easily. Behind him, Zero remained cautious. They finally reached a carriage door, condemned by solid wooden planks. With a sure hand, Yagari moved one of the planks, unnailed, revealing a keyhole in the darkness. With a key bearing an encrypted sign, the one-eyed man unlocked the door quickly before inviting Zero to come in, his one eye making sure no one saw them.

Zero entered in a small inner courtyard and looked up to the facades looming over him: most of the shutters were closed, and, underneath the white snow, couch grass had invaded window boxes and flowerbeds. A muffled silence reigned.

“Over here.”

Yagari crossed the courtyard quickly and reached a back door he opened with a push of his shoulder, before pulling out a torchlight and stepping into darkness without hesitation. Zero followed him more slowly, keeping his hand on the guard of his sabre.

“This is a private mansion that was seized by an Association intervention last year,” Yagari informed him as he walked upstairs through a creaking staircase. To the Lisenthard administration, this place doesn’t exist. We’ll be safe at least for one day, before we decide what to do next.”

Zero nodded in silence. He had surely already occupied such hiding places during his missions for the Association, but in all likelihood, he never heard about this one.

The building was indeed abandoned for months, according to the layer of dust and debris creaking under their travel boots. The old wooden furniture was mostly covered in white sheets. All the rooms looked alike, frozen in time and abandonment. An icy cold reigned between these walls deprived of sun.

When they reached the third floor, Yagari dropped his travel bag on the ground, causing a small cloud of dust to rise; they had reached the hiding place proper. He went to the rear windows, pulled the curtains briskly and opened the shutters. In the morning sun, the place looked in better shape than the rest of the wood-panelled building. The white sheets had been taken off some of the furniture, including a sofa and a small, ancient wooden table. In the huge chimney, a few half-burnt logs showed that someone had come here recently.

“One of our men probably stopped by,” Yagari whispered absently.

He sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette, enjoying the first puffs while Zero, out of habit, did some reconnaissance. In a corner, a metal closet was sticking out like a sore thumb around the old furniture, and Yagari guessed that it probably contained rations and other useful items: clothes, first aid kit... that the Association left in every hideout, at the disposal of its members passing through.

Finally, Zero put down his bag and went to the window. The buildings bordering the courtyard were too high to let him see the town, and he could only hear the indistinct mutter rising from the harbour, the muffled whistles of the trains, the barely-perceptible rumours of the crowd and the marketplace...even if, Yagari thought, with his supernatural hearing, Zero probably heard a lot more.

The one-eyed man observed his student for a long time. Pensive, silent as always, proud-looking in his long black coat. So different from the exhausted, parched being who came asking for advice a few weeks earlier...

“Kaien should be here in a few minutes. Over there,” he carried on, gesturing at another door, “you’ll find bedrooms and running water. Clean clothes and bandages.”

Zero glanced at him, looking surprised and even displeased that he should allude to his wound. Yagari had to admit that he hid it remarkably well, but his former apprentice couldn’t fool him: his slight wince as he leaned to pass through the door didn’t escape him, nor did the unnatural stiffness in his right shoulder as he walked.

“Master. What will become of Yuuki?”

Yagari expected him to ask about his presence in Lisenthard, and he looked at him with surprise. Zero stared back at him, once again impassive. Between them, the nightmarish scene at the port seemed to linger.

“It’s not for me to decide,” Yagari finally answered with a shrug. “And by the way, I thought you didn’t care much about her? You didn’t really hold her close to your heart last time we met, Zero.”

The young hunter remained impassive despite his mentor’s obvious irony.

“The situation has changed.”

Yagari thought that his former student seemed defensive, and he didn’t insist. He would have all the time to question him once Kaien came back.

Suddenly Zero shuddered and, all his attention focused to the entrance downstairs, he slid a hand underneath his coat to grab the Bloody Rose. The sudden tension in his shoulders surprised Yagari, who left the sofa and joined him, his rifle on his shoulder.

A succession of clicking and creaking sound rose from the courtyard. Kurosu Kaien was the first to pass the carriage door, and looked around with attention. He glanced at the windows, nodded at the two hunters and smiled at Zero, whom he hadn’t seen in a few months. Yagari quickly studied his general appearance, but he didn’t seem injured, or even shaken. His plan, as naive and crazy as it had seemed, had obviously worked.

Kaien stepped away from the carriage door, and motioned someone to follow him. A silhouette appeared, discreet and tiny under the long white hooded coat Kaien lent her. Yagari studied her carefully, watchful for any aggressive gesture as she crossed the snow-covered courtyard in a swift, almost ethereal pace.

Reaching the centre of the courtyard, the white silhouette suddenly stilled. And, slowly, hesitant, she looked up, revealing in the pale morning light her face hidden under her hood. A young and graceful face, still smeared with some reddish stains she had hastily wiped away. In the way she was hiding her hands, Yagari knew she was covered in blood under the white coat.

Yuuki Kuran. The veteran hunter held his breath despite himself as she crossed his gaze: as time went by, he saw more and more Kaname Kuran in her juvenile but cautious features, in her carmine-tinted brown eyes, cold and piercing. The resemblance to her brother was barely there when she had left the Academy but now, through her gestures, her haughty presence or prideful gaze, it was striking.

There was a clicking sound beside him, and Yagari broke the eye contact to look at Zero. Silent, his former student had just put back the safety of the Bloody Rose on and, with an excessive slowness, he cautiously put the gun back in its holster. Not once did he take his eyes off the vampiress. Standing still in the middle of the courtyard, she looked back at him without flinching.

Zero whispered then to her, looking emotionless. But Yagari could see his clenched fists.

“We have to talk. You cannot carry on like this.”

He didn’t need to raise his voice, thanks to their supernatural hearing. Below, to the one-eyed man’s surprise, the Pureblood seemed to hesitate. She finally nodded and answered, so softly Yagari had to read her lips to understand her:

“I know, Zero.”

Seconds dragged on, never-ending, while the two vampires stared at each other wordlessly. Then Yuuki turned away and followed Kaien, who acted as if he hadn’t seen anything of the exchange. Yagari was surprised to notice that he had held back his breath. For a few heartbeats, the atmosphere had become electric between the two young persons.

And the mentor didn’t think he was wrong in seeing a red glint in his former apprentice’s amethyst pupils...

Looking absent once more, Zero let his gaze wander over the few rooftops he could see. Unconsciously, he put his hand to his shoulder, grasped it as if to soothe a distant, throbbing pain. His eyes glassed over for one second, and Yagari felt strangely uneasy.

He knew too well this _look_ in Zero’s eyes, for he had seen it in the past. Despite himself, he whispered with consternation.

“...even after all this time, Zero? Even after what she did to you?”

To his dismay, the young hunter stiffened, and his face immediately darkened. His purple gaze, once more unreadable, dared to scowl at him with piercing reprobation.

“The situation has changed,” he repeated in a dull tone. “Stay out of it, Master. Please.”

And with this sharp remark, Zero went to grab his travel bag, and left for one of the bedrooms, unheeding the steps of the two newcomers in the stairwell.

A cigarette in his mouth, Yagari scratched his head with circumspection.

“Well, that’s just great.”

.

.

.

_A few years ago..._

 

“Master?”

Busy reading an old report, Yagari didn’t answer right away, certain that they weren’t talking to him. Frowning, he cursed internally the author’s messy writing. A muffled silence reigned in the great Archive room, barely troubled by furtive steps and other hunters’ whispers.

“Mister Yagari?”

He finally looked up from the dusty book and saw the young man waiting patiently near him, looking grim. Wearing travel clothes, as well as the standard hunter apprentice gear, the fifteen-year-old was easily recognizable with his ash-brown hair and his piercing hazelnut eyes, yet humble as he greeted the Association’s number one hunter.

“Kaito? What are you doing here? I thought your master was back on the field.”

Kaito Takamiya was not his apprentice per se, but in the past Yagari had sometimes had to take on the teenager’s training, when his mentor had to leave or came back gravely wounded from one of his missions.

Impassive, the young man glanced behind him, as if to invite his superior to follow his gaze.

“I found him wandering near your office. He says he’s looking for you. I don’t know how he managed to come here, but I thought it would be better to bring him to you.”

Behind Kaito, a couple of metres away from him, a younger teenager was standing. Hands in his pockets, in appearance relaxed and indifferent, he had pulled the hood of his sweater over his grey hair, as if to avoid being recognized. To no avail, according to the suspicious gazes of some hunters pulled from their reading.

Yagari closed his report notebook and left the study room.

“Thanks, Kaito. I’ll take it from here. I’m counting on your discretion.”

Clearly dismissed, the apprentice bowed again, and Yagari didn’t linger on him despite his worried expression. The hunter walked to the newcomer, whose vacant amethyst eyes shone in the shadow of his hood.

“Zero. How did you get here?”

The teenager shrugged, suddenly avoiding his gaze.

“Kaien Kurosu dropped me in front of the HQ,” he muttered hoarsely. “I wanted to see you.”

Yagari said nothing but still thought that Zero should never have been able to enter unannounced, whether he was human, vampire or the son of renowned hunters. The HQ security seriously needed to be checked...

“What brings you here, Zero?”

“It’s...it’s about what you told me last time, you and Kaien. I want to know more.”

Impassive, Yagari sensed the suspicious or incredulous gazes of his colleagues who – _finally_ – noticed the teen, even recognizing him as one of the Kiryu sons. Briskly, he put his book back on the shelf, before gesturing at Zero.

“Not here. Follow me.”

They left the archive room and crossed the HQ in silence, before reaching a backdoor Yagari knew few people would be using at this hour. They reached an arcade-lined gallery, looking out on the street. From here, it was easy to observe the passers-by without being seen, but also easy to avoid eavesdroppers. Out of habit, Yagari took a cigarette while Zero leaned against one of the columns, his hood still up.

The hunter understood easily why he wanted to remain unseen. For his sake and his illustrious parents’ legacy, Zero’s new _state_ had been classified, and only a handful of high-ranked hunters knew the truth – but Yagari wasn’t stupid; he knew the news would come out, sooner or later. Without taking into account the few gifted people like Kaien, who could detect Zero’s _nature_ at first sight.

On the other hand, the Kiryu clan massacre was already well-known, and many of Yagari’s colleagues had wished to express their support to the one and only survivor. Support that the teenager, now taciturn and aggressive, probably didn’t care for, since he refused any courtesy call. Yagari was even surprised to find him at the Guild HQ: according to Kaien, who had been sheltering Zero for a little more than three weeks, he had barely left his room since their last argument.

“Master...how much time?”

Yagari searched for his lighter in his pockets. The question was a predictable one.

“How much time for what?” he asked in a neutral tone.

“You know what,” Zero replied harshly.

“How much time until you become a Level E?”

Zero’s flinch didn’t escape him, and though he understood his distress, he didn’t show it.

“Learn to name clearly what scares you, Zero. Staying in the dark won’t solve anything, and only makes the feeling of danger greater.”

He lit his cigarette with a flick of his lighter, then looked at his apprentice out of the corner of his eye. He was staring at him with open animosity from under his hood. His shoulders were tensed, betraying his anguish. He spoke again, and his voice, though bitter, was shaking.

“How much time do I have left before I have to drink human blood. Before I become uncontrollable…before they have to shoot me down.”

Yagari held back a bitter sneer. Zero had always been a conscientious student, respectful and far too disciplined. The loss of his twin, his family and his humanity was changing him deeply. It was sad to admit, but the hunter thought he could see himself in this solitary and gruff teenager, who seemed to have grown ten years older in only a few weeks.

“I have no certainty, Zero,” he finally confessed helplessly. “It can take weeks, or even months.”

“Weeks…?”

The teenager’s voice broke on these words, and he paled. He obviously hadn’t expected such a short reprieve. A long minute passed in the deepest silence. In the adjacent street, at the end of the stairs leading to the Association HQ, passers-by were walking innocently, as if miles away from the tragedy playing in Zero’s stunned eyes. Then the teenager scowled, his hands deep in his pockets, and he whispered.

“You said something about stopping the process last time...what do I have to do?”

A broad topic...Yagari took the time to take another drag on his cigarette.

“You can’t stop Level E decay.”

Unless they could find the one who turned Zero and make him drink her blood, but Shizuka Hio had dropped off the grid, and when a Pureblood this powerful decided to hide from the Association, it was often quite hard to find her. Heavy-hearted, Yagari chose to keep quiet about this.

“But we can push back the demise thanks to some Association seals. Your instincts will awaken eventually, but you’ll stay sane longer. It will be painful, Zero. And uncertain.”

“How much time do I have left if I follow your instructions?”

“We don’t have much hindsight on the efficiency of these methods on someone as young as you are. A few months...a year, maybe. It will depend on your willpower.”

His student pondered on this for a few minutes, then looked at him in the eyes.

“Understood. What do I have to do?”

“Creating the seal will take time, and if might arouse suspicions if we do this at HQ. Tell Kaien, and you’ll both come to my home tomorrow afternoon.”

Zero looked surprised: maybe he expected more resistance. In fact, Yagari was ready to postpone the Level E demise until the one who did this was caught. Ready to help his student since the very first day, he only needed his consent.

“Why this sudden change of heart, Zero?”

Stubbornly staring at the ground, the teenager didn’t answer right away. As he thought about an answer, his dull gaze became sharp and deadly under his grey hair.

“I know I am doomed. But I don’t want to die. Not now, not like this. And not before I could avenge them. So, as long as I can push my limits...”

“And...that’s all? Vengeance is your only reason?”

As Yagari expected, Zero glared at him.

“What, do I need another one?”

The hunter smirked and, as always, didn’t mince his words.

“Three weeks ago, you were about to shoot yourself, Zero. Kaien may be a good speaker, but I didn’t think he was so convincing.”

“He has nothing to do with my decision.”

The teenager looked away, as if ashamed of the behaviour he had displayed weeks ago.

“If I die...my parents, my brother...it won’t bring them back.”

His tense face relaxed slowly, and his eyes became vague.

“And I’m far from being the only monster here...I cannot leave now.”

On these cryptic words, almost whispered to himself, Zero looked up and froze, suddenly focused on something below. Yagari was trying to make sense of his words, when he caught his student’s suddenly sharper gaze, and looked for the reason behind such attention.

Beyond the stairs leading to the Association HQ, at the end of the street, he recognized Kaien Kurosu, in deep conversation with a small brown-haired girl, barely younger than Zero. Joyful and extraverted, she frequently glanced around, as if waiting for someone.

Kaien’s other ward. A young human girl Kaien had taken in a few years ago.

Yagari came back to Zero, who looked strangely absent, then the hunter narrowed his one good eye. Vengeance was indeed a driving power behind his crucial decision, but there was indeed another reason. And finally, Yagari _understood_.

After a long silence, Zero faced the hunter, his eyes suddenly more earnest, almost serene.

“Master. I wish to keep training with you. If you don’t mind taking me back as your apprentice...”

“You never ceased to be, Zero,” Yagari replied. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge for a few insults thrown out of despair. “Now get lost. I think they’re waiting for you.”

Zero bowed respectfully and had a faint, polite smile, something of a rarity lately.

“Thank you, master. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The teenager came down the stairs in a hurried yet nonchalant step, pulled back his hood once he approached Kaien. The brunette controlled an enthusiastic jump when she saw him and, suddenly more composed, went to him, a faint smile on her lips. To her question, that Yagari guessed as hesitant, the teenager answered with a shrug, and deliberately avoided her gaze. She seemed to be saddened by it, but didn’t insist. As a wise tutor, Kaien immediately rekindled the conversation to lighten up the mood.

_“I’m not the only monster...”_

Yagari sighed. No need to be an expert shrink to understand Zero’s decision: in the few weeks he had passed at Kaien’s home, his apprentice probably met Kaname Kuran, and noticed the strange interest the Pureblood showed toward the small Yuuki. As a true son of hunters, now marked by a traumatic experience, Zero had reacted violently toward said vampire. And if Yagari believed Kaien’s observations, the girl’s total lack of distrust toward the Kuran heir didn’t make things any easier.

Preoccupied, the hunter finished his cigarette before going back to his study. Zero’s sudden change of heart was maybe fuelled by revenge, but Yagari was sure of one thing: when Zero saw this kid, he had the same gaze he used to have toward his brother Ichiru.

A troubled, more hesitant gaze, but undeniably real: he had only known her for a few weeks, and maybe Zero himself didn’t yet realize it, but she was precious to him.

Yagari knew this behaviour all-too well: Zero wanted to protect her. And for this, he was ready to plunge without return into the merciless hunter world, even when he was himself a vampire and a future Level E. This double status may arouse suspicion and animosity, or put him in serious trouble, very quickly. But when Zero made such decisions, he held onto them, whatever may be. Yagari smiled bitterly: he had to shared this character trait with his late parents.

On the street below, the trio was walking away, led joyfully by Kaien. Though relieved at the idea that his apprentice had accepted his help, Yagari hesitated to see this situation in a good light.

Zero was doomed, and if Kaien was to be believed, the teenager had insisted on keeping it a secret. But if he started to get attached to this kid, and if this attraction was mutual...

...How could Zero hope that things would end well?

.

.

.

.

Yori stared at the small metal box on the kitchen table.

“He forgot them. Again.”

She took a deep sigh, before glancing at the clock on the wall: Aido had left one hour ago. The governess, who just finished cleaning up the kitchen, bowed diligently.

“Would you like me to bring them to him, Mrs Aido?”

Yori thanked her with a kind look.

“There’s no need to. He’ll be home at dawn; he shouldn’t need them. Otherwise, one of his friends will surely help him out.”

The middle-aged vampiress nodded, then her eyes seem to get lost in distant memories.

“Even when he was young, Mister Aido had his head in the clouds. When he was still studying at the Academy, there wasn’t a day when he didn’t lose something! When he noticed it, Mister Aido always said it was because a brilliant mind such as his shouldn’t bother with futile details. Thankfully, his cousin Mister Kain always did what he could to make up for his forgetfulness.”

The governess chuckled, then bowed once more. Yori watched her exit the room with a slight smile: this vampiress had been at the service of Aido’s family way before he was born, and she knew that Hanabusa, behind his distant attitude, thought of her more as a surrogate grandmother than as a servant. When he had insisted that she come work for them, Yori, knowing this, didn’t have the heart to refuse, even though she would have preferred to live alone.

She was also aware that underneath her helpful and good-natured demeanour, the governess was a formidable bodyguard, ready to react to any threat. Yori guessed that knowing she was by her side comforted Aido quite a bit during his travels. Even if she no longer feared for her own safety, Yori could only understand this need to protect her.

After all, they had both thought they’d lost the other several times throughout the past few years...

Thoughtful, she grabbed the small box, opened it to observe the familiar white pills. A new generation of Blood Tablets. Recently improved to be more efficient and reduce the rejection rate for vampires unable to digest them.

Could Zero Kiryu, who could rarely stand the former generation of pills, have been able to take them? She would probably never know the answer to her question.

But anyway, Zero never really counted on them to sate his thirst, so strong had his willpower been. After all, didn’t he hold the record for the slowest vampire transformation ever known? Bitten by a Pureblood when he was thirteen, no one thought he would last longer than a few weeks before falling into madness. But he had remained human-looking and sane for four years, without drinking any drop of blood. Never seen before, or after him.

How could he have been able to resist it for so long? Was it, in part, thanks to _her_?

As if to answer her, a memory seemed to hatch in her consciousness, almost timid. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could see in the dusk light a small, thin silhouette pass in the corridor. Doubtful, Yori sat on the nearest chair and, pulling a notebook out of her pocket, closed her eyes a moment.

“Yuuki?”

With her whisper, the kitchen faded away, her senses blurred, slowly filled with another presence, another atmosphere. A small, soft voice, still young, seemed to whisper in her ear, like a diaphanous spectre at the edge of her mind.

_“Zero?”_

Used to it, Yori smiled wanly. She began to write.

.

.

.

.

“Zero…?”

A tray in her hands, Yuuki had hesitated for a long time in front of the slightly open door, before finally deciding to knock gently. But, despite the light coming from the room into the corridor, there was no answer.

“Zero?” she called again, a bit louder, to no avail.

Downstairs, the clock rang ten pm, its ringing filling the big, old house. It was late, and Zero, like every night for the past week, had come home far after dinner and went directly to his room. Yuuki stared at the contents of her tray - dishes she had carefully selected, only the ones that her adoptive brother liked. She tried to catch a movement out of the ajar door, but everything was still.

Zero looked tired and preoccupied recently. Maybe he had fallen asleep and forgot to turn the light off? After a long hesitation, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Zero, I’m coming in,” she warned, out of reflex.

Though it was lit, Zero’s room was empty. She remained still for a few seconds as she rediscovered the room, which looked tidier than hers. The decoration was stern, even impersonal, outside of a few pictures she framed herself and gave to Zero, displayed on a chest of drawers. The desk was cluttered with files and school material, but the bed was made, Zero’s coat and his uniform sweater negligently thrown on the eiderdown. There were more books than in Yuuki’s memories, piled up on the shelves or opened here and there, as if they had been discarded after a quick browsing.

Frowning, a bit worried, she looked out in the corridor, listened carefully toward the bathroom, and finally heard the faint sound of running water. Zero was taking a shower.

Hesitant – it had been months since she dared enter Zero’s room – she finally walked to the desk and looked for a place to put her tray without disrupting the pile of files and notebooks. Despite herself, she read a few titles, and understood that Zero’s researches had nothing to do with the usual curriculum.

They were about ballistic calculation, investigation on vampire crimes, the use of appropriate seals or the Hunter Association history. Amid the thick tomes piled up here and there, she recognized several rare and costly books from Kaien Kurosu’s private collection. Though she didn’t know the details, she knew her adoptive father used to work for the Hunter Association, and thus had an impressive collection on the subject. It had been two years since Zero joined them, and it had only been a matter of weeks before the teenager asked for permission to have access to all this knowledge. Kaien had accepted joyfully, too glad to find light again in the young Kiryu’s eyes.

Yuuki, on the other hand, had more mixed feeling about this renewed interest for the Association. She knew now that Zero’s parents had been killed by a vampire while their son had been left for dead. Though she was an orphan, without any memory of her own family, she could understand Zero’s sadness and his will to avenge his parents. Just as she had seen with her own eyes the disgust he felt toward himself, that day when she found him with a bloodied neck, nails reddened from hurting himself where he could still feel his attacker’s hungry fangs.

She stared at the notebooks filled page after page with notes, calculations and other schematics, and recognized easily Zero’s writing. Was it really the best way to rebuild a life, to lose oneself in hunter studies like he was doing?

“Yuuki?”

The young girl jumped up at the familiar voice, turned on her heels carefully, her hands still clenched on her tray. In the door frame, Zero was looking at her with surprise. In black sweatpants and a t-shirt, he seemed to have frozen in place as he was drying his anthracite hair with a clean towel. Yuuki remained speechless and petrified, waiting for his scolding, now usual nowadays when she tried to get closer to him. “It’s the awkward age”, said Momoyama, their gentle housekeeper, when Yuuki moped around after being faced with her adoptive brother’s grumpier behaviour.

But, exceptionally, Zero kept staring at her with stunned surprise.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as he stepped in, his towel on his shoulders.

Yuuki was looking for words, when she suddenly realized that he was now a full head taller than her. They only were one year apart and yet, as she kept the build and appearance of a scrawny preteen, Zero’s silhouette kept broadening and growing taller, changing slowly to what he would look like as an adult. Incidentally, his stature was starting to look like their adoptive father’s. It was...troubling?

Yuuki shook her head and blinked, her cheeks feeling uncomfortably hot.

“I...I brought you dinner, in case you hadn’t eaten. Your door was open and the light was on, so…I thought I could enter. I’m sorry, Zero...”

She took a deep breath and dared to look at him again. Pensive, he was staring at the tray.

“We made the vegetable soup you like,” she added, pointing out with her chin the Thermos she filled just for him. “I thought it would be a waste if you didn’t get to taste it.”

“Thanks,” he finally whispered with the shadow of a faint smile. “It’s true I haven’t eaten yet.”

His neutral expression softened, and Yuuki felt more confident at this sight. Zero’s smiles – the real ones, the ones you could read more in his eyes, and not the perfunctory smirks he had mastered – were too rare a thing, and she had learnt to welcome each of them as they deserved.

She glanced at the desk behind her and shrugged. Then she noticed the bed, clustered with a few clothes.

“I don’t want to disrupt anything. I’ll just put it there, okay?”

Zero nodded and agreed in a whisper, as he resumed drying his hair. She walked to the bed to put down the tray, pushing away the coat and the sweater on the eiderdown.

“The soup is still hot, hurry up and eat it! And also...”

Yuuki froze, then stood up slowly, wide-eyed. Under the coat she was still holding, she just found a small gun. After a moment, Zero, who was perusing his notes on the desk, noticed her silence.

“And also…?” he repeated, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

As only silence answered him, he glanced at her and immediately understood. Dumbstruck, Yuuki extended her hand toward the object, brushed the cold metal, before recoiling as if it was burning. It looked like the anti-vampire weapons she saw in Zero’s books.

“Zero...what are you doing with...this?”

She struggled to take her eyes off the gun, which seemed so heavy on the eiderdown, and looked back on Zero. He had put down his towel on a chair and crossed his arms, leaning on the desk as if waiting for her question, though he didn’t answer it. His amethyst eyes, unreadable, seemed to say that she already knew the answer.

Yuuki stared at him with worry, looked again at the gun, then the coat she was still holding. A strange feeling took her, and she carefully studied the fabric. Its sweetish scent confirmed her doubts. It reminded her of the burning fireworks of her childhood.

The smell of powder.

“So that’s what you’re doing every night after school? You...you’re learning to...”

“To shoot? Yes,” he completed without showing any emotion. “There’s a shooting range at the Association HQ, and any apprentice can go there.”

“Does Kaien know?”

“He’s the one who gave it to me.”

He uncrossed his arms and stepped in to take back the gun, emptied the magazine; it still had a silver bullet in it. Yuuki watched him handling the deadly object with caution and easiness, torn between admiration and a growing uneasiness.

“So...you’re really going to become a Hunter?” she whispered in flat voice.

For one second, Zero’s gestures became slower, less assured. He glanced at her from beneath his grey bangs, and Yuuki looked at him with pleading eyes.

“You know where I come from,” he simply said. “It’s in my nature. I was born for this.”

He turned to the desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a black box. Inside, in the velvet-lined spot, he put down the weapon and the magazine almost religiously. Yuuki gulped with difficulty.

“But...It’s dangerous! And, for you, this kind of solution, it’s...”

She hesitated for a few seconds, then said out loud what she had been thinking for months.

“It’s kind of like vengeance, no? Zero...”

He closed the box, maybe harder than necessary. There was a silence. Then Zero looked back on her with his amethyst pupils, unreadable but piercing.

“There have to be people like me to do the dirty work. And to protect the weak against the vampires. They’re not like Kuran would like you to think.”

She saw him put a hand on his tattooed neck, and shuddered.

“...you know it as well as I do, Yuuki.”

Absent-mindedly, he massaged the skin marked with this interlaced design, of which she still ignored the real significance. The day Zero came home with his tattoo, she first thought it to be a teenager’s whim, as if he was trying as hard as he could to take back control of his life by multiplying his reckless actions. As time passed, she noticed a resemblance to some of the Association seals she glanced in the books Kaien or Zero read sometimes.

Unlike what the old legends said, vampire bites didn’t turn the human into one, as Kaien assured her one day. But Yuuki had heard that they could stay painful for months, even years afterwards. Unable to get a clear answer from Zero or their father, she finally concluded that the tattoo – the seal? – on her companion’s neck numbed this lasting pain. According to Zero’s behaviour some days, it unfortunately wasn’t that efficient...

Silently, she watched him put away the gun box in its drawer. She put the coat back on the bed, then softly whispered.

“There are Blood Tablets now. And this academy Kaien and Kaname are talking about...peace is still possible. I’m sure of it.”

His face unreadable once more, Zero was silent for a long time, his gaze wandering over the piles of books on his desk. He clenched his fist, and his eyes turned to steel. Yuuki repressed a shudder, and, joining her hands before her, twisted them absent-mindedly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “Half-measures never last. What’s certain, is that there can’t be peace without someone to enforce order.”

Abruptly, he grabbed the wet towel and walked to the door.

“I chose my side,” Zero declared coldly. “And you should do the same.”

Yuuki stepped aside, but didn’t deter.

“And what if I refuse?”

Zero turned back and stared at her blankly, as if unable to understand. Yuuki tried to not blink, knowing the importance of her words.

“What if I don’t want to choose? Like Kaien?”

As Zero stared at her with consternation, Yuuki felt a strange frustration rise up in her. She clenched her fists, unable to find the right words – or rather, too shy to say them out loud. Vampires? or Hunters, as if there were only two ways, two irreconcilable and diametrically opposed foes!

Of course all vampires weren’t like Kaname. Her own nightmares never ceased to remind her how dangerous they could be. But when these images of murderous, bloodthirsty assailants invaded her thoughts, she just had to think about the kind and warm face of the young Kuran to calm down. His embraces, his kindness, his smile had lulled her childhood, as far as she could remember. She trusted him, as well as everyone who was faithful to Kaname.

Just as she understood the motivations and the important role of the hunters, even though sometimes she was scared when she heard some extremist ideas in Zero’s speech. He had lost his parents in what she knew were horrible circumstances. His convictions and his distrust toward the vampires were certainly excusable. And yet, she sometimes thought, if violence only brought violence, couldn’t one think of another way to reconcile the two castes?

She struggled for a few more seconds, and finally blinked before Zero’s intransigent face. She was suddenly aware of an ironic fact...

Zero and Kaname. Two sides opposed in everything, incarnated in two beings who ended up taking a primordial role in her life. She didn’t want to choose between them. Because she _couldn’t_ choose...

Standing near the door, Zero finally sighed.

“So it means that you either trust everyone, or no one. It’s stupid, and dangerous if you’re not strong enough. Vampires, but also hunters...we’re all monsters.”

Yuuki frowned, surprised by Zero’s strange conclusion – “We?” – As well as his suddenly shaking voice, looking suddenly exhausted. Daring to look at him, she recognized this expression of intense despair, that he had always had when first he arrived here. He only rarely let his guard down now, only when he was alone... like now.

Yuuki paled: her adoptive brother’s mute and yet strong sadness clenched her throat. Had it been anyone else but Zero, she would have hugged him spontaneously to comfort him, but he rarely took well to such displays of affection. When she saw him close his eyes and put a clenched fist to his forehead, shoulders slumped, she approached him slowly, extended a hand to grasp his shoulder.

“Zero, I...”

“Don’t touch me.”

He barely whispered, but the rage and disgust hardly contained in his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. She lowered her hand quickly, as if struck down.

“Get out of my room, Yuuki.”

He avoided her gaze. She knew him too well to try and stand up to him: quite aware that the discussion was over, she resigned herself to obey. Nodding with a whisper, she passed him and reached the door. About to leave the room, she stopped then, a hand on the doorknob. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard before taking a deep breath.

“You’re right. Today, I’m weak, and indecisive. So...”

She hesitated, then carefully looked from behind her shoulder. Back to his desk, he was turning his back to her.

_“To protect the weak”, “I was born for this”..._

“...So until I can defend myself, Zero...I hope you’ll be okay with protecting me, too.”

Zero didn’t answer, simply closing one of the books on his desk and filing some pieces of paper. She shook her head in a silent sigh and, heavy-hearted, went to the corridor, closing the door behind her.

Just before it closed, she heard Zero’s clear voice whisper:

“You don’t have to ask me, Yuuki. And you’ll never have to.”

The young girl stilled for a second, then closed the door gently. In the dark corridor, she had a soft but bright smile.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is our stage, and we have played our part with all our heart. Thank you for listening to us; we hope we reached you like we did every week for several months. Now, this is your turn to reach us. Please, remember that leaving this page in silence is like leaving your seat without looking back, without a clap. It hurts.
> 
> You're not feeling inspired? So show a little humour, a "clap clap" will do :)
> 
> See you soon!   
> Love
> 
> Elenthya & Vanamonde - Words & Worlds Team


	21. Chapter Twelve: Finally - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings,  
> Thank you for your reactions to the previous chapter, it was so nice to finally hear from the silent -but faithful!- majority. We hope it will go on...  
> Today, the characters from the Chronicles -finally!- put all their cards on the table. Enjoy...

 

 

 

 

“Yuuki?”

Unable to answer, staring at nothing, her lips stained with blood, she stepped back slowly until she was sitting on the sofa. After a few seconds of stunned silence, tears escaped from her dull eyes, sliding along her cheeks.

There was a brushing sound near her. With infinite gentleness, two hands grabbed her own to hold them softly. Kaname whispered.

“Yuuki. Come back, please.”

She heard clearly his deep, worried voice, but was unable to react. Carefully, he wiped away another tear on her cheek before stroking her temple. She suddenly drew a shaking breath, and, before his piercing gaze, chose to close her eyes.

“Yes...yes.”

She shuddered, then surreptitiously ran her tongue across her bloodstained lips. She was surprised at first by the metallic taste and frowned before relaxing, leaning into Kaname's hand as he, in a comforting gesture, held her cheek.

“How do you feel?”

She shook her head, eyes still closed. In a raspy voice, she whispered.

“I’m alright, just...tired. So tired. I’ve been alive for so long, it’s a weight I can’t...”

She suddenly stopped, frozen. Then she gulped, and finally opened her eyes, struggling to meet his gaze. Silent, he was giving her time to put her mind back together, certainly knowing how troubled she was. After all, it had been a year since she had become a vampire again, and it was the first time he had let his memories appear in the blood he gave her.

And to think, he had only done so because she expressly asked...but she knew why now.

“I’m not the one who’s tired, it’s...it’s you, Kaname. You who have been living for...for so long. Decades, even centuries... _millennia_.”

Heavy-hearted, she fought back a whimper. Images, sounds and feelings that did not belong to her invaded her thoughts again.

“This woman...the hooded Pureblood...do you love her?”

Kaname recoiled a bit, surprised.

“Yuuki, you just learnt that I lived three times longer than your own parents, that I’m not really your brother, but an ancestor that Rido forced to reincarnate in his place...and you’re asking me about a woman I met before?”

She curled up on herself but didn’t let go of his hand, or his eyes. Sorrow – or was it _jealousy_? – was squeezing her throat, and she felt miserable.

“You still love her. I felt it, in your blood, your memories...you still love her. The one who was at your side ten thousand years ago, the one who sacrificed herself to protect humankind, the one whose heart is still beating in the Association Foundry, the one who...”

She was talking fast, almost unintelligibly, submerged by the memories. He put his fingertips on his sister’s lips and she quieted, tears in her eyes. She pleaded in silence, he seemed so self-controlled...even cruel in this crucial moment.

“You still love her,” she finally whispered. “And you miss her.”

Kaname nodded gravely.

“Yes, it’s true. I love a memory, an image which ceased to exist millennia ago. But, more than that, I miss the time when I was still carefree and full of hope, when I wasn’t aware of what it was...loneliness, the burden of immortality.”

Yuuki looked down, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes, then burst into silent tears.

“I know. I felt it too...you warned me, but it was so difficult. What your blood _told_ me, it’s...too much. I can’t compare with this, with _her_...with you...I feel so tiny. With everything you saw, everything you lived, how can you stand to stay by my side? I’m just a child, I’m...nothing!”

He tightened his grip on her shaking hands.

“Yuuki, look at me.”

She stood on edge and stubbornly kept her head down.

“Yuuki, ask my blood, and you will know. Yes, I’m tired by these millennia of existence, by the generations of humans and vampires I saw pass. I’m even exhausted by the eternal repetition of mistakes and the nonsense mortals make in this chaotic world. But this exhaustion is nothing compared to the torpor that was eating me inside before I saw you for the first time, in Juri’s arms.”

Yuuki stiffened when she heard her mother’s name.

“Focus on my memories, Yuuki, and you will understand. Focus on the intense joy I felt when, where you were born, you met my gaze. That day, I finally understood why I survived all this time, why fate led me to reincarnate as Juri and Haruka’s son. It was to protect you, Yuuki. To guide you, to love you.”

Yuuki’s lips moved as she still savoured her brother’s blood on her tongue, this essence filled with so many secrets. She closed her eyes, let her instinct lead her, and, slowly, Kaname’s certitude came to her, sincere.

Reincarnated in a pure, simple but strong image: Juri Kuran, still exhausted after a recent birth, and yet beaming as she called Kaname, a baby in her arms.

A little girl. In Kaname’s memory, she looked so precious. Splendid. Radiant.

“ _Her name is Yuuki…!”_

Finally, she looked up and, filled with gentle bliss, nodded that she _saw_ the same thing he did.

“Me too, Kaname,” she whispered, plaintive. “Me too, I live only for you.”

She had a faint, hesitant smile. Then, sobbing, she threw herself into his arms, which hurriedly encased her.

“There are still so many things I don’t know about you, big brother...so many things to learn, to understand…!”

Kaname sighed softly, and she knew he was smiling.

“Don’t worry. We have all the time in the world.”

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**Chapter Twelve**

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_**Finally** _

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It seemed to her that the water had been running for ages.

Conscientiously, she had wiped out, cleaned, rinsed and recleaned each strand of blood-soaked hair; every inch of her skin scrubbed pink. After much effort, the red swirls at her feet had gradually grown pinker before turning clear again. She then put the plug back, sitting cross-legged in the small square tub and got lost in her thoughts. Throwing her head back against the wall, she had let the warm water bathe her face, running down her languishing body.

When she was neck-deep in the water, she reached out to close the tap, and the copper shower head stopped spitting its hot, thin rain. Silence came back, almost deafening after the sound of the shower. It halted her hazardous reflections, and she curled up even more on herself, before immersing herself completely.

Naked, in a foetal position, using the tightness of the tub to lean on the sides, she listened to the muffled sound of water against her eardrums, the distant and slow beat of her heart, echoed by the water. Inside, she sighed, and let her mind wander. It wasn’t a coincidence if, two times before, she chose to nearly drown in order to keep her thirst in check. She had always found it comforting to immerse herself, to find her body both cocooned and freed of all gravity, cut from the outside world and its never-ending noise, completely and entirely turned inward. Listening to the life beating under her skin, inside her bones, within herself. In total communion with something real, truly real, usually silent, now in her reach.

Was it what one felt, blissfully unaware, when still in the womb?

Her heart leapt at this thought, while she felt a lump in her throat. She opened her eyes a bit, all peace of mind gone. On the whiteness of the tub, the light was reflecting in ever-changing arabesques over the moving water. Slowly, gently, she massaged the painful skin of her hands, arms, thighs.

Her eyes brushed her hip, then slid toward her belly. The soft skin gave way to the usual, numb asperities...

Called by other memories, despair almost engulfed her, like a fall into a bottomless pit.

 _**No** _ _. Don’t think about it!_

She rose up suddenly, and her face broke the surface of the water. The cocoon of calm erupted, as her consciousness sank back in. Panting, she rubbed her hands over her tense face, pushing away her long wet hair. She took the time to recover her breath, then opened her eyes, haggard. In the enclosed space behind the shower curtain, the air was saturated with hot steam. Had she nodded off?

She pushed back the curtain to look at the room, filled with the irrational fear that she was no longer alone. But the bathroom was empty, tiny, the door was locked and the only window barred up. There was a dim atmosphere, because of the dusty lamps framing an old dressing table and its tarnished mirror. A few other ancient pieces of furniture, covered in white sheets to protect them, seemed to have been there for decades, and to be one with the walls of this old, vast house. On a chair, a change of clothes and a towel awaited, taken by Kaien from the stock left here by the Association.

She immersed herself once more to the chin, shivering. With her fingertips, she slowly combed her long hair, lost in thoughts. Memories from her human life were coming back to her, important and mundane things she thought she had forgotten, wrongly. Was it because of this old creaking house, incidentally reminding her of Cross Academy, and of her childhood home?

Was it because she was near Kaien Kurosu, or rather... _Zero..._?

Yuuki frowned, filled with an indefinable feeling as she thought about her companion. Her head half-immersed, she remembered their last exchange when she arrived, those few words that meant both everything and nothing.

“ _You can’t carry on like this.”_

He had fought her last night, seen her covered in blood and capable of anything. But while Kaien had given her respect and understanding, and Toga Yagari made manifest his – justified – distrust of the murderous Pureblood she was, Zero had shown nothing but coldness and scorn.

No commiseration as he looked down at her from the window, standing tall and proud despite his probably still painful wound. Not an ounce of fear in his amethyst eyes, at the idea of suffering her retaliation now that her mind was clear once more...

Arms crossed over her chest, she pensively massaged her shoulders. It wasn’t really surprising coming from Zero, after all...she had lived by his side every day for four years, she realized, so why was she still surprised by his rebellious and stubborn behaviour toward her? He who had never shown Kaname his due respect...

Thinking about _him_ awoke a few tendrils of the mad, chaotic dream she’d had in the catacombs, and she shivered. She couldn’t remember the details. Only one firm conviction remained.

“ _Drink his blood, Yuuki.”_

A firm conviction which, coincidence or not, had echoed in Zero's vindictive words.

“ _We have to talk. You can’t carry on like this...”_

She blinked several times to regain her senses. The warmth of the water, freeing until now, was now numbing her mind. What good would it do to ponder on what Zero meant, or inspired in her? In the end, it didn’t really matter. And yet, she began to think about their next meeting, about what she would have to say to him. An old uneasiness – which she thought she had forgotten, too – filled her, and she tried, reluctantly, to analyse it. What did she feel about Zero now?

Fear? No. Dread? Not really...

Trust, in a way. The trust one could give a liegeman who, bonded as he was, was forced to help her. She smiled bitterly at this idea.

Uncertainty. She never really assumed this influence she had on her kin. Facing a Pureblood, one could only feel an instinctive submission and veneration, and it had condemned her to a bitter solitude. But when, moved by the desire for vengeance, she finally decided to use her full authority on Zero, the failure had been doubly painful. For her, and for Zero, who hated Purebloods with the best reasons in the world...would their quest be simpler if she could control him like she could control – reluctantly – the other vampires?

“I’ve had enough of biting someone who’s more afraid of it than me.”

She clenched her fists when she remembered his remark from yesterday, still aching in her mind. Then, slowly, she calmed down and wondered: since when was she so irritable? Was it because each day without the assassin being found was torture? Or was it because it was _Zero_?

Apprehension. Because she could go on, lying to herself forever, he still was her only chance to achieve her vengeance.

A kind of gratitude. For the same reason...

Curiosity. Ever since she injured Zero in a fit of rage, the smell of his blood seemed to linger at the edge of her senses, both new and familiar.

Anticipation…. _Desire_?

“ _Drink his blood, Yuuki.”_

She gripped the edge of the bathtub, ready to jump out of it, wide-eyed.

“ _A vampire can only be sated and lucid by drinking a loved one’s blood...”_

With flaring nostrils and wide-eyes, she searched around her, expecting Kaname’s silhouette to appear. In vain. He had been only a dream, a delirium born from her own memories...

After long seconds, she reluctantly relaxed, a lump in her throat. This dream was persistent.

“ _What are you really afraid of, Yuuki?”_

“Enough…!”

She hurried out of the tub and wrapped herself in the towel, drying herself quickly. She then put on the few women’s clothes Kaien had found for her. While they had been put away in one of the mansion rooms, they barely smelled musty. Aware of her luck – her own clothes were torn, covered in blood and good for the trash – she vigorously dried her long hair and combed it quickly.

They had lost enough time as it was: Kaien said he had information about Kaname’s murder, and that he only wanted to tell them once Zero was around. Her face hardened, and she ignored the sudden and piercing pain she felt in her heart at the idea of finally knowing _why_...

Why he had been murdered. And why she hadn’t been killed, too.

But to think of it, one of the answers was obvious: wasn’t it worse to have survived?

In the tarnished mirror, she avoided her own gaze as much as she could, her head full of memories. Finally ready, she picked her old clothes up off the floor and left the bathroom without looking back. She walked up the corridor hurriedly, eager to be done with it. Her senses on alert, she was surprised to find no one around: it seemed like Kaien, Yagari and his former apprentice were absent.

The main room – the one where Zero had been when she arrived –turned out to be empty. She saw the chimney, where a fire was blazing. She slowly approached it and, without any regrets, threw her useless clothes in the fire. The flames flickered eagerly, then made quick work of the tainted clothes in a profusion of blue sparkles. Despite the acrid smell, Yuuki didn’t move, mesmerized by how easily the flames were devouring their prey.

If only her own mistakes and hesitation could be so easily wiped away…

“ _What are you truly afraid of, Yuuki? That Zero’s blood won’t satisfy you? To be forever this weak?_ _...Or, on the contrary, what it would mean if Zero could satisfy you?”_

Kaname's voice had turned ironic at these words. She briefly closed her eyes, focused on her canines. As if awaiting this signal, her fangs throbbed and tried to lengthen. She restrained them pitilessly. Whatever Zero had done, the psychic satisfaction she had felt was only temporary: the thirst was there, always. And to think she just had to give in to feel better...

After all, she had Kaname's approval, didn't she?

 _**No** _. Like any dream, it seemed intense and justified in the moment, but when she woke up, that certainty had faded away, only leaving behind a deep feeling of absurdity and nonsense. Nevermind the “conversation” she’d had with this Kaname, it held no value, no excuse or privilege. She restrained a nervous sigh, hating this part of her, insensible and selfish, violent but predictable, who dreamed of only one thing: to sink her fangs into another’s flesh and to steal away their strength.

Even more so, to sink her fangs into Zero’s flesh. And to hell with the consequences. After all, it was for Kaname – to survive to better avenge him – that she would do it...

But she could imagine only too well Zero’s reaction faced with such a request. How could she explain the importance of the act, for Yuuki who, deadly wounded, could only become whole again with the blood of a loved one? Even worse, how could she do it without implying that it was a bet on what she might still feel about him?

She clenched her fist, hopeless. The answer to all these questions was crystal-clear: she was a Pureblood, and if she wanted blood from a liegeman, she had no explanations to give, nor did she have to consider his opinion on the matter. Furthermore, to answer to a Pureblood’s thirst was not only a duty but, first and foremost, a privilege in their world.

But, once again, this was about Zero: he never cared about the conventions. The instinctive respect any vampire felt for the Purebloods was unknown to him. And it wasn't the core of the problem, the reason behind her hesitation, she realized, again and again, shameful. How could she feed from him without fatally feeling what he _felt_?

She opened her eyes and, enjoying the burning heat of the flames on her cheeks, lost herself in their golden heart, eyes gleaming. There weren’t many vampires who, like Kaname and her, were able to hide the feelings in their carmine essence. For their kin, the saying “blood doesn’t lie” was literal. It was a formidable indicator of the donor's state of mind, and at no cost did she want to undergo this with Zero. She could already guess what he thought: she felt it in his distant demeanour, in his wary eyes, in his rare, too-often critical words. This underlying rancour didn’t surprise her, because of their shared past.

But to bite him...to _bite_ him, he who once, evasively, described to her the horror and resentment he felt toward Shizuka Hiou, the woman who ruined his life with just one bite?

She saw with her own eyes the impassive, imperturbable Zero, losing all control and becoming enraged before the Pureblood who had made him a vampire. She even assisted, powerless, to the horrible spectacle of this woman who, proud of her influence, had fed at Zero’s neck with revolting slowness. She had seen Zero’s _eyes_ at this moment...

How could she not hesitate at the idea of inflicting such an ordeal on him once more? And she who had taken on the accursed role of Zero's torturer, now recoiled at the idea of drinking his blood if it led her towards seeing herself, _feeling_ herself being hated so much by him. Feeling fragile, she realised that these few weeks spent in his silent company had created a strange hope: that she had a true ally and not a liegeman, subjugated without his consent. A denial of their reality, a shield which would be blown to pieces the moment she accessed his feelings.

But to carry on, she hadn’t had another choice...

It was unfair. Cruel. For her and for him.

She saw him again, wounded, panting, _distraught_ , that day when without flinching she had shot several silver bullets at his vampire body.

The pain in his amethyst eyes turning crimson. His stupor, then his terror at the idea of dying, shot down like this.

Then the _desire_ , animal and imperious, uncontrollable when, with one word, one gesture, one command, she offered her throat.

His hurried embrace. His fangs closing on her offered flesh...

_Zero’s blood staining the wall..._

Suddenly misty-eyed, Yuuki lowered her eyelids and tried to control her ragged breath. Guilt clenched her heart. She was still mourning, and such memories shouldn’t awaken such an _emotion_. And yet…

And yet, her own fangs were throbbing, echoes of a distant desire awoken by the mere memory of Zero’s blood.

“Yuuki.”

She didn’t react, unsurprised. She had felt his presence well before he entered the room and spoke up. Aware of the crimson gleam in her eyes, she didn’t turn. Silently, she put her hand to her neck in the hopes of finding her pendant – a comforting contact – but it had disappeared after last night's events. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t remember when she lost it. Probably when she was _slaughtering_ them...

While bloody, the image didn’t worsen the tortuous desire troubling her, suppressed by the despair of having lost her last tangible remnant of Kaname. The deep disgust she felt – for the ones who threatened her, for herself, having succumbed to her madness and lust for killing – ended up making her insensible and impassive. Her fangs at normal size again, she turned away from the flames and looked at Zero.

Arms crossed, leaning on the door frame, the hunter was staring at her, also impassive. Silently, they studied each other. He had showered and changed clothes too, according to the lack of blood on his clean clothes and his anthracite hair, still slightly damp. Over his black turtle-neck, partially covering his tattoo, he had kept his leather shoulder holster, the Bloody Rose in it. He wore his sabre on his hip. With his weapons always close to hand, he seemed ready to fight for his life at any moment...which, knowing the young hunter, wasn’t just an impression; according to Kaien Kurosu, Zero had only learnt about the hiding place the same time as Yuuki, but while his elders kept saying how secure the place was, Zero wasn’t one to lower his guard in such conditions.

Unless he was simply wary of her? Yuuki frowned at this idea, unpleasant but justified. After all, she had used her Pureblood authority the day before to force him to bite her – to no avail, she remembered once more with a slight feeling of humiliation. And last night, she had struck without hesitation...

_The hit on the head which almost knocked Zero out. The gaping wound in the hunter’s back, traced with her fingernails, brutally and angrily..._

_Zero’s stare, shining, scarlet, never once blinking before her rage..._

Yuuki clenched her fist, restrained the impulsion in her throbbing canines.

“...How are your wounds?”

Despite the guilty uneasiness gnawing at her, her voice was clear and calm, almost too calm for the circumstances. The hunter raised his eyebrows while putting a hand on his right shoulder.

“Healed. The scar is still a bit stiff, but it should get better soon.”

His back wound had been deep, and they both knew that such quick healing had only been possible by sating the inevitable bloodlust awakened by such an injury. They quieted, and in the silence, Yuuki saw again the image of a blonde-haired woman offering her wrist, submitting to Zero’s fangs. In the memory, the relation Zero had with her seemed old – and _precious_. Their blood exchange had appeared to be far more intimate than a simple deal between a thirsty vampire and a consenting or paid human. She chased the unknown woman from her mind, unable to explain how this vision came to her, but knowing she should never have had access to it.

If this vision wasn't a hallucination too...

“So you managed to drink someone else’s blood,” she noted, feigning a slight surprise. “I thought it was... _impossible_ for you until now.”

Zero blinked. Even if he never clearly stated it, his behaviour had been more than telling when he was still running away from the Pureblood. She had finally understood the incredible disgust the blood of others caused him since she’d taken him under her control. A visceral rejection condemning him to depend exclusively on his new mistress’ offerings.

“Many impossible things happened last night, Yuuki,” the hunter replied, defensively. “Will you explain to me what happened while I was gone?”

Yuuki stiffened, even though his question was to be expected. Zero had left to see an informant at sundown, and she stayed at the hotel where nothing should have threatened her. A few hours later, he had found her at the other end of Lisenthard, maddened with rage and covered with the blood of a dozen slaughtered militiamen…

“I don’t condone what you did to those men,” Zero carried on, faced with Yuuki’s stubborn silence, “But I don’t believe you acted without any reason. According to Yagari and Kaien, they weren’t really part of the Militia. But they were suspected of using its influence to mug civilians who didn't respect the curfew. The ones who survived them never dared to report them, fearing retaliation from the Militia."

Although thankful to him for giving her this information, Yuuki remained impassive. She remembered the behaviour of these so-called militiamen, their lusting glances and abject remarks. So, these men who assaulted her had done it to other women before?

For one second, her intense feeling of guilt was laced with some satisfaction: no other woman would have to suffer from their acts.

“They went after the wrong person,” she eluded, looking away. “There are limits to my patience.”

“But you had lost control of your thirst way before running into them, hadn’t you?”

Yuuki hesitated slightly, before sitting on a couch before him and crossing her legs with an elegance now natural to her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, Yuuki. I felt your thirst yesterday night...It’s duller now, but I still feel it.”

Yuuki stared pensively at her hands crossed on her lap, in truth actually surprised. For Zero to be able to feel her thirst when he was near wasn’t new: already, at the mansion where they hid to tend to the wounds they received in Neidchmart, Zero had felt the unquenchable desire torturing her. Yet, any vampire with a little experience was able to do such a thing, thanks to their enhanced senses.

But how could Zero have done it yesterday, when he was at the other end of Lisenthard? He was bluffing, a deduction he’d made after seeing her slaughter those civilians. She was intimately sure of it.

After a few seconds of silence, Yuuki dared look him in the eyes, fighting to remain impassive. Looking both irritated and concerned, Zero was staring at her wordlessly, then he sighed. Taking his sabre off his belt, he walked to the other couch and sat upon it with a groan, the weapon at his side. Hunching over, elbows on his knees, he massaged his temples for a while, looking deep in thought. Then he whispered, eyes closed.

“Barely one hour after I left, your thirst was growing and you were hardly controlling it. When it escaped you, your power trashed your hotel room, and you had no choice but to leave in a hurry. I don’t really know what you did next, but you tried to calm down with something other than the Blood Tablets...A method that could have killed you in the long run. Your thirst declined, but you almost fell unconscious. I suppose that’s when you met those would-be-militiamen, and their threat made you lose control for good. I knew at once that you would leave no survivor.”

Yuuki’s eyes had slowly widened as he stated her slow descent to hell from the night before with _unbearable_ accuracy and simplicity.

Memories of her ordeal with Kaname as she tried to live without human blood, which awoke her despair so much she lost control of her emotions.

Her power which, in a moment of unprompted anger, ravaged the room. Her desperate run to flee the temptation inspired by any blood-filled human, her drowning attempt to smother the _Other_ before it was too late.

The militiamen who pulled her from the fountain, their weapons zeroed in on her, their threats and their barely-veiled demands...and then, the _explosion_ of rage when one of them, inexplicably in possession of her pendant, had taunted her.

Her ears buzzing, she forced herself to come back to the quiet and silent present time of the room, barely troubled by the humming of the flames in the hearth. When she looked up, she noticed that Zero was watching her wordlessly, looking impassive. She finally whispered, her throat dry.

“How is that possible…?”

The hunter stared at her, then looked down and sighed, earnest in his powerlessness.

“If only I knew,” he mumbled.

Absent-mindedly, he slowly massaged his wounded right shoulder. Yuuki nervously shook her head, focused on her tensed hands. How deeply had he felt what she went through that night? Had he had visions of what she was doing too, of the memories she revisited despite herself? Of Kaname’s pseudo-intervention?

“But whatever happened, it worked the other way around,” Zero carried on. “When I sated my own thirst that night, it calmed down yours too.”

They stared at each other in silence: it wasn’t a question but an affirmation. After a slight hesitation, Yuuki stopped trying to deny the truth.

“In part, yes.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, still surprised at how easily her own thirst had subsided while Zero drank at the wrist of that human stranger. A relief she had only felt with Kaname.

They both felt the other’s thirst and its sating, without any physical contact. How was such a thing possible, or even conceivable? She opened her eyes and her silent question was probably clear in her eyes, for Zero frowned, suddenly thrown off-balance.

“You’re the one who created this bond, Yuuki. If even you don’t know what’s going on...”

He blinked, and she struggled to not do the same. To confess that she had created this pact more on an impulse than after a long reflection was out of the question. Vampires powers were numerous and changed from one to another. Yet, they all were, in a way, instinctive and natural – unlike the science made of mathematics and physics which was the hunter’s strong suit. As usual since becoming a Pureblood again, Yuuki trusted her instincts more than her knowledge.

She had needed an ally, desperately. Faced with Zero, blood had spoken. And a pact had been sealed. Just like when she had kept and encased in amber one of Kaname’s last crystals – oh, if only she could forget that fucking pendant! Its loss continued to hurt her...

Seemingly unaware of her sorrow, Zero slid a hand in his pocket and pulled out a small box.

“Here.”

He threw it to her, and she caught it instinctively, wondering. The rattling sound of the box was more than familiar. Blood Tablets.

“Kaien knows perfectly well that I can’t take them, so I suppose he left them for you.”

Yuuki nodded with a bitter whisper and felt her heart ache thinking about her adoptive father, smiling kindly in the catacombs as if they had parted only yesterday. Even after five years of separation, Kaien Kurosu kept watching over them in his own way. She looked around for him, but once more her enhanced senses felt no other presence than Zero’s.

“Where is he? And Yagari?”

“They both left for the port. Their presence here was supposed to be unofficial, but because of last night’s events, they have to act like officially mandated investigators. They should be back in a couple of hours.”

Yuuki’s fingers brushed pensively over the motifs engraved on the small box: a stylised rose, the Association emblem.

“Kaien said he had information about...about Kaname’s murder.”

She felt another sensation of heartache, more piercing and treacherous. Like every time she said _his_ name, she struggled to swallow the sorrow clenching her throat. She blinked and glanced at Zero, who stared at her in silence. This time she didn’t react: Zero was perfectly aware of what she felt. Regrets, that was all she had left...and she would never be ashamed of it.

“Sensible intel about someone important,” she added rapidly. “He wanted to tell us in person.”

Zero nodded knowingly as if the investigation which led to their "reunion" had never left his mind.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the hunter whispered. “Otherwise, why would he have come here?”

His neutral gaze became inquiring and cold, almost metallic. He squared his shoulders unconsciously as his right hand brushed the Bloody Rose in its holster. Yuuki thought she recognized in his gestures the Zero from before. The sometimes grumpy, often silent high-schooler, the bright but discreet student who could suddenly sneak out of school for an Association mission. The one who, in front of her, had shot a Level E in cold blood, before going back to class the next day as if nothing had happened.

His hunter mask: even back then she had found it impressive. Now that she was a vampire, shouldn’t she be afraid of it? At this thought, Yuuki looked away, suddenly aware that the lump of emotion in her throat was no longer only caused by Kaname’s absence.

An old creaking house, a burning fireplace, the familiar and once comforting presence of Zero, his measured gestures and attentive silences. The sound of his voice, his smell...all those details, gathered by her vampire senses with each second, each breath, drew her deeper into some strange and gentle torture. Her mind wandered toward memories she didn't want to wake, and she inwardly shook herself. This past was irremediably lost, and forgetting it was the only thing to do. Why was that so difficult to grasp?

She rose without noticing, suddenly carried by the desire to leave this place, to flee this _atmosphere_ definitely reminding her too much of their former patrols.

“ _Drink his blood, Yuuki.”_

She froze for one second, her hand clenched on the small box of Blood Tablets, and all the determination of the previous hours disappeared from her. _**No** _. No, she couldn’t. Not yet, not now. The mere mention of Kaname’s name almost shattered her every time it was pronounced. In this state, she wouldn’t be able to endure without crumbling before what she would feel in Zero’s blood – hate, disgust, powerlessness...

A few hours. She just needed a few hours, for her to get a hold of herself, to hear what Kaien had to say and to establish a new strategy. And it didn’t matter if she had to eat entire mouthfuls of these pills until she could think more clearly.

“Thank you...for the Blood Tablets.”

She turned away without expecting an answer. Her mind in a haze, she watched with growing unease the small box in her clenched hand, when Zero’s voice said out loud what she was thinking.

“They won’t be enough, will they?”

Yuuki stopped a few feet from the door as if paralysed.

“Yuuki, I know you want to remain faithful to him. But we can’t carry on like this.

She shut her eyes tightly to stop the tears threatening to fall hearing Zero talk about _him_. She heard the hunter stand up as well, but she stubbornly kept her back to him. It was dangerous, she knew it all too well.

Dangerous but necessary. There was no way he could see her like this.

“You were mortally wounded several times over the past few weeks. Your thirst can’t be sated with these pills. You know it as well as I do.”

“I can control myself,” she whispered hurriedly.

"But until when? The next fit? The next assassin, the next wound? Tonight, it was a gang of rapists, but next time, who will be the victim of your anger? A crowd of innocent people? A child?"

Zero’s voice, until then slow and steady, became sharp.

“Do you really think Kaname would have wanted you to sink so low, he who dreamt of an alliance between humans and vampires?”

The mere mention of her lost love made her shudder with anger. She turned around and snarled, furious.

“Don’t try to speak on his behalf, Zero. I forbid you.”

Had she had less self-control, she would have bared her fangs. How could he act as Kaname’s voice, when he had always hated him? How dare he use her brother to make her bend?

Shivering with rage, she glared at him, her mahogany eyes tainted red, but not once did the hunter’s amethyst eyes blink. He seemed to assess the Pureblood’s emotions, for he carried on in a tone that was quieter, yet still intransigent.

“I promised you, Yuuki. I will help you find the one who killed Kaname. But tonight, because of you, I blew one of my best covers and my informant nearly shot me down. If there’s one thing I’m certain of now, it’s that our vampire instincts are now linked, and I can’t do my job properly if I can’t trust in your ability to control yourself.”

Yuuki bit the inside of her cheek, fists clenched. She would never say it out loud for anything in the world, but he was right, once more. She drew a short breath to get a hold on herself.

“It won’t happen again, Zero. You have my word.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She shrugged nervously, and Zero narrowed his eyes, distrustful. She sighed, tired and wanting only one thing: to be alone until Kaien's return and to empty the entire box of Blood Tablets.

She was about to turn away when, out of the corner of her eyes she spotted a suspicious gesture from Zero: he pulled up the sleeve of his sweater, baring his left forearm. Fangs bared, without taking his amethyst eyes off her, he put his wrist to his lips. She shuddered as an image superimposed with reality: Kaname, offering his bloody wrist, from a distant time when he still had to force her to feed herself.

The same proud attitude, the same decided gaze. The same disdain for the will of the one he wanted to call out, to tempt. _**To**_ _**submit**_.

One blink of the eye and Yuuki was already near Zero, her hand clenched around his unharmed wrist. If the hunter was surprised by her speed, he didn't show it. Her eyes threw daggers at him as she tightened her grip, her face barely centimetres away from his.

“Stop,” she whispered, for once mindless of their sudden proximity. “I forbid you.”

He stared back at her in silence, then slowly sheathed his fangs, broke free of her hold and stepped back.

“Fine. Until the next role reversal, then? If it’s your weakness that’s behind this phenomena, I won’t hesitate: I will make you drink my blood, Yuuki, willingly or not. You’ve been warned.”

They stared at each other in silence. The memory of their confrontation in the Lisenthard catacombs was still fresh – his insubordination as he threw her into the darkness, her powerlessness as she stayed down, submitted to his order...

Of course he would do it, she realized painfully. For their own survival, he would give her the order she dreaded so much. Weak and left to her animal impulses, she wouldn't be able to resist. She would feast on his blood, feeling both guilty and radiant, on his freshly opened wrist. Maybe she would even plunge her fangs in his masculine flesh without hesitation if it was knowingly offered to her...

Troubled, she blinked, batted her eyelashes, and finally sighed, dejected.

“You’re really just like him...It doesn’t matter that I’m a Pureblood. And never mind what I believe. You always do what you think is best.”

Zero slightly frowned, perhaps surprised by her words, or the weariness in her voice. Silently, she let her gaze wander to his right shoulder, which he was massaging absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry. For hurting you.”

The hunter flinched with surprise: to hear her apologizing was maybe the last thing he expected. True to his self, he simply nodded.

“Stop it. I’ve been through worse.”

He let himself fall back on the couch and stared at the flames. Yuuki swallowed with difficulty.

“If I were to drink your blood...”

Cursing her suddenly shaky voice, she squared her shoulders.

“If I do it now, aren’t you afraid I might learn what you’re thinking?”

Clenching her fists, she watched for her liegeman’s reaction, his eyes lost in the fire. And to her deep regret, as expected, he had an unpleasant smirk, not unlike the old Zero’s sneer of rage and disgust, when he was face to face with one of their kin. He looked up to her, and his amethyst pupils shimmered with bitterness.

“We don’t really have a choice,” he replied abruptly.

Heavy-hearted, Yuuki restrained herself from blinking.

“No, obviously.”

They stared at each other for a few remaining moments. Then she sighed, vanquished.

“What’s the use in postponing the inevitable...”

Slowly, she put the box of Blood Tablets in one of her pockets and sat by his side. Looking indifferent, Zero rose his bared left arm, turned his wrist upward. Looking as calm as he was, Yuuki held with her palm the offered hand and brushed absent-mindedly the white, untouched skin of his forearm. Her instinct revealed to her the trail of each vein, each artery beating there. Listening carefully, she heard the muffled, powerful sound of his blood. She was surprised to find it so slow, so calm, and even more surprised by the soothing effect it had on her.

She then had the absurd thought that if Zero had given his blood before, it was a long time ago, according to the smooth and perfect skin of his wrists. Kaname, despite his uncommon healing abilities, always kept a trace of their previous exchanges. Once, Yuuki had suspected her lover of keeping a visible scar on purpose, as a silent sign of their mutual belonging. Zero didn’t have such relationships, but was it really a surprise?

As she felt her canines slowly lengthen, free at last, she wondered: she knew for a long time that Zero didn’t deny himself the sips of blood he needed anymore, but had he ever given his own blood willingly? Everything pointed toward this: the way he offered his wrist, his calmness despite their proximity...

But, as if he read her mind, Zero whispered.

“Shizuka Hiou has always been the only one. I don’t know how to keep you from reading inside me.”

Literally mesmerized by the sweet murmur of blood, Yuuki reluctantly turned away from his wrist. Breathing heavily, she looked up and met the hunter's darkened eyes. The emotion she thought she could see beyond those amethyst pupils was like a crack of a whip: veiled by resignation, was it uneasiness, worry she saw?

_Fear?_

“Try to not linger.”

On those words, Zero closed his eyes, hiding that gleam she couldn’t read. Thrown off-balance, Yuuki looked at his now expressionless face. Did he trust her this much? Or was he trying to hide at any cost the complex emotion her bite inspired in him?

He drew a deep, long breath, and Yuuki looked down before he grew impatient and glared at her accusingly. A lump in her throat, she tightened her grip on the wrist he offered her, cursing her own canines which seemed to shiver with anticipation, more and more painful. Underneath the unbroken skin, she easily felt the web of veins and arteries, the tumultuous song of the blood, unseen and yet everywhere.

She felt a lump in her throat as tears came to her eyes: this skin, this smell, this blood, she had never tasted it, and yet she instinctively knew everything. How to place herself by his side rather than before him, in order to tighten her hold on the offered hand. Where to sink her fangs, how deep. How to put her lips so as not to waste a drop.

How sweet, how satisfying it would be to give into this nourishing and tumultuous flow. Her blood, her lonely and wounded flesh, everything in her was thrilled by this delightful prospect...

But the _heart_ , the _soul_ weren’t there. It wasn’t Kaname. It would ne ver be Kaname again. Kaname was dead, and in a way, she had died with him…but then why was biting another one throwing her into such an _excited_ state? Once more, her body was escaping her control, with no regards for her feelings, her beliefs. Tears in her eyes, she would have screamed bitterly if she hadn’t feared Zero’s reaction.

“Go on,” he whispered.

Leaning on the hunter’s offered wrist, she didn’t have the courage to open her eyes to meet his gaze. With her breath, she warmed his flesh, as dictated by her instinct. Zero shuddered involuntarily, and the pleasure it caused her left her both bolder and disgusted with herself. When her shivering tongue brushed his skin to perfect this preparation, the flow of contradictory perceptions – delectable and unpleasant, exciting and shameful – made her drop her last hesitations. She let her body and instinct do the rest, and focused on one and only thought.

 _Kaname_. She was doing this for him.

To better avenge him, destroy his assassin and maybe recover her faulting memory, she needed Zero. It was _selfish_. Unfair for the hunter, and for her: neither of them would have wanted this, for anything in the world. But if Zero was indeed dear to her, so his blood would give her back her old strength, her clear-sightedness. What the hunter thought about her didn’t matter...or at the very least, the power she would take from his blood wouldn’t suffer from it.

She needed to _love_ Zero. It was as complex and as simple as that.

To love him. It couldn’t be forced. But, admitting that it was possible...what to do if drinking his blood wasn’t enough?

And what to think if it was?

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To drink someone else’s blood was never a trivial thing.

Stolen from an unwilling victim or given with full consent, the act wasn’t just a mixture of nourishment or survival. Just like the bite which often came with it, it gave a sense of abandon, obedience to a more basic instinct, for both the predator _and_ the prey.

Vows of allegiance or gratitude, protective instinct led by tenderness or desire, or a destructive will born out of greed or hatred.

And, beyond reason, the act was transcended by an emotional tone, even a _carnal_ one, something Zero had discovered at his own expense ever since the first bites. To bite and to drink brought him back to the primal state of the predator, struggling and finally committing the ultimate act of survival. It was a primal thing, a pleasing, enticing and _exciting_ instinct, which took him years to accept as it was. And sometimes he still couldn’t stand it, as his body became so... _**out of control** _.

On the other hand, he never could understand the pleasure of being the prey. In his wanderings and infiltration missions, he could often observe his kin, and see the impatience of some to submit to their partner, for one night or a life. Like a favour, a gift they gave at the expense of their own physical integrity.

He saw the slight fear in their eyes, slowly disappearing with the pain. The bliss which sometimes appeared on some faces as a slight swallowing sound was heard. The tender gestures of some prey for their predator, as they stole their essence in all impunity.

For Zero, it had always been obvious; this role wasn’t meant for him. He had only been bitten twice in his life, both times unwillingly and by the same person, and he never felt the desire to live it again. How could he, when this act ended his childhood, marked the massacre of his family?

For him, this act was and would always remain one of aggression. Made by him, it symbolized theft in order to survive, the instinctive blow one gives to kill before being killed, leaving the victor struggling with a feeling of triumph tainted with guilt.

Inflicted, the bite was nothing but horror to him. Shame, a punishment forever linked to the floral and mysterious perfume of the one who turned him. The silk-like brush of her long hair against his neck, on his back. A warm, soft breath mingling with his. And then an imperious hand grabbing his chin, another seizing the collar of his shirt, brutally baring his flesh from his neck to his collar bone. The cold snow against his skin, immediately replaced by a warm, hurried breath...

And the pain. Striking, numbing. The fangs piercing his defenceless flesh. The lips lingering, greedy and burning, the bestial sucking, so strong he almost shattered under the pain. The appalling swallowing sound...

Even years after, Shizuka Hio’s memory – _her bite_ – was still sharp in his mind, carved deep within him. It haunted his days and filled his nightmares, reminding itself to him every time he looked in the mirror.

Even once his bandages had been taken off, the skin of his neck smooth again.

Even once the Association seal had been tattooed.

He could never forget. While fate had made him a vampire, he kept anchored in his flesh the despicable and alienating feeling of being _eaten alive_. And, faced with the incomprehensible carnal urge leading his kin to let themselves get bitten, this desire was perfectly foreign to him, and he was certain that he would never try it.

Or so he had thought. But it was another thing she had turned upside down when she came back...

 _She_ . Yuuki. The proud Pureblood who reappeared without warning after five years. This young woman who, to serve her designs, gave him – _imposed on him_ – her blood to make him submit...she was now hesitating to take his own, while everything pushed her to it.

Eyes closed, but all his senses on alert, he analysed the situation: Yuuki's raspy breath betrayed her desire, and yet her hand on Zero's arm was shaking. He knew her fangs were ready, but the pain was yet to come. A bit reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

Led by an instinct he knew quite well, she interlaced her fingers with his and exposed firmly the tender flesh of his wrist. Lips parted on a silent sigh, she remained frozen. He couldn’t say if he was annoyed or relieved by this.

“Go on.”

She tilted her head a bit, and when he felt her breath, then her tongue on his unbroken skin, he couldn’t help but shiver. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip, as if to keep her prey from escaping her. He tried to relax, captivated despite himself by the whiteness of her fangs, finally visible behind her shivering lips.

Sometimes, he thought he could understand her. Being the predator wasn’t pretty, and he knew it all too well.

He saw her frown, her fangs in wait, her breath rasping. What was she afraid of, exactly? Was it breaking her oath of blood fidelity, yet null and void since Kaname’s death?

Was it reluctance towards _feeling_ what he thought that made her hesitate so much?

Was it the fear, the shame of giving in after her forgotten and yet traumatizing attempt on her life? By the way, was she bitten too, that day? Before being left for dead, had she been brutalized...or worse?

The pain piercing his wrist brutally cut off his thoughts, and he had to fight against himself to not shiver and pull his arm away. As if reacting defensively, his own fangs throbbed, as a manic, irrational fear engulfed him, ancient but all-too-familiar. He briefly closed his eyes to get a grip on himself, holding his breath.

Shizuka was dead, he reminded himself. Dead for years. It wasn’t this accursed Pureblood’s canines already pulling out of his flesh, neither her hesitant lips on the two punctures of his wrist. Instead of a brutal sucking on his neck, he now only felt a slight, sinuous burning feeling on his willingly offered arm.

He wasn't there as a victim, but because he wanted to be, because he had decided to be. He wasn't a child anymore, trapped under a Pureblood's fangs, submitted to her will, but a consenting adult and an armed hunter to boot. It was up to him to stop the exchange because he knew – he felt – that she wouldn't resist...

And either way, if she didn’t listen, if she lost control and put him in danger, he had the means to fight back. His sabre on his hip, ready to be drawn. The Bloody Rose on his shoulder holster, loaded, its security off. _But also his own fangs_ whispered his vampire instinct...He pushed away bluntly this revolting thought and, becoming docile, his own fangs stopped throbbing.

Calmer now, he opened his eyes and looked at her. She was leaning on his wrist, her slender lips on his skin. Her eyes were closed, and she was frowning slightly, as if deep in thought, even surprised. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore. When a slight swallowing sound rose from her throat, Yuuki tightened the grip of her interlaced fingers on the hunter’s, exposing his wrist more, and sucked harder. Her face, that had been pale and tensed for days, relaxed and regained some colour. In a few seconds, she seemed to change completely, in such a subtle way that only a vampire would know the difference: her presence, her posture, the _energy_ she gave off, everything in her seemed brighter, more affirmed with each sip.

Like a flower left in darkness for too long, finally reviving under the sun’s rays, he thought, before chiding himself for this comparison dripping with romanticism. Yet, he knew perfectly the satisfaction she must have felt in this exact moment. For them and for their kin, such _bliss_ was inevitable…

He swallowed, troubled, and focused on her piously closed eyelids. Were she to open her eyes, her scarlet pupils would probably shine with a new life, thanks to the blood he was giving her.

If only she would look at him...what would he see in these eyes, usually inscrutable?

A muffled moan escaped Yuuki, almost a whimper. Her breath quickened, but she kept on drinking. Her brow furrowed, her slender shoulders shivered. Between her quivering eyelashes, a solitary tear pearled, slid along her alabaster cheek, got lost in the shadow of her neck.

Zero looked away, suddenly unable to stand such a sight.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloody Cross Chronicles begins its last stretch toward the end of the first arc. If you love this story as much as we do, now is the time to make yourself known! Soon, it will be too late...
> 
> See you soon!  
> Love ,  
> Vanamonde and Elenthya - Words & Worlds Team


	22. Chapter Twelve: Finally - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> The previous chapter, “Finally”, was quite dark... Would you like a glimmer of hope?  
> Have fun...

_Finally – Part Two_

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“ _Kaname_.”

The taste of blood on her tongue. Its sweet, never-ending flow past her fangs, into her throat. This blood so despised, so sought after, finally mixing with hers, both soothing her and strengthening her.

She sipped once, carefully, and the sudden bliss left her oblivious to anything else. The blood filled her, both foreign and familiar. The following instant it saturated her senses, ready to invade her mind. With it, came and went a multitude of sounds, smells, colours and lights, feelings and emotions. Every single one of them reminded her of Zero.

Unmoving, she gave in to the sweet bliss of feeling alive again but took great care in staying impassive before the never-ending flow of thoughts and foreign memories. As expected, Zero didn’t know how to contain himself, and everything that defined him appeared in the blood he was giving her.

To contain oneself was to reduce one’s own flow of spiritual essence, leaving a mixture of unreadable perceptions, exhilarating but unreadable for anyone else but their owner. No one could really achieve it, for, after all, “blood doesn’t lie”, as the saying went. Only a few Purebloods were able to master their thoughts and feelings when it came to giving their blood to someone else. Among them, there had been...

“ _Kaname_.”

She took a long breath, and wrapped herself up in his name, his memory, before taking another sip, strengthening her again. She kept closed her inner eyes and ears, and let Zero’s blood come and go around her, like ebbing waves on a smooth beach. She sighed inwardly, more relieved than mortified now. To enjoy Zero’s blood curative abilities, without getting lost in his resentment or the hatred he had for her was easier than she had expected. In the rare moments when she let her mind slip a bit much, a distant feeling of wariness and disgust brushed her senses, and promptly brought her back to reality.

She let the crimson essence do its job, choosing to concentrate instead on the physical energy it gave her rather than the emotional luggage it contained. With each sip, her body was becoming lighter, suppler, stronger. The devouring thirst she had felt the past few weeks was going away, the physical pain was soothed. Her past wounds, healed but still present in her flesh, were disappearing. Eyes closed, her other senses, as if freed from a dark veil, were opening up again to the outside world.

Cold snow, everywhere.

The city, swarming with sounds, breath and lives, its hundreds of inhabitants within her reach, unknown people going about their business in all innocence.

The house, forgotten by all, a vast, creaking and cold building, almost totally engulfed in darkness, were a few mice roamed, still unafraid of the two predators nearby.

The silent room, filled with the pensive murmur of the comforting firelight.

The familiar presence by her side, silent and on the lookout. The tension in his arm, despite submitting to her fangs. The smell of his slightly-shivering skin, the supple warm flesh under her lips, and this blood, both old and new, powerful, communicative, so easily readable…

Lost in her bliss, she stopped herself in time from plunging into the flow of emotions given to her. Troubled by her own carelessness, she took another sip. A few more, and she could stop. She wouldn’t need more, even if…

...Even if she wanted to. Clearly, painfully _wanted to_. Shame overwhelmed her when she understood. How could she be so greedy, so insatiable when he wasn’t even...

A deep nostalgia, laced with sadness and pain, darkened her felicity, and time stood still.

“ _...Kaname. This isn’t Kaname.”_

Suddenly, in the tumultuous flow of foreign memories, a strange echo grabbed her attention. More than a sound, it was a fragrance of the past, a gesture, a feeling of déjà-vu. A proud silhouette. A voice lost in the limbo of the past. Her senses stood on edge at the contact of this presence she thought she would never feel again.

 _He_ was there, somewhere. Barely perceptible, but really there.

“ _Kaname_ …!”

Forgetting all caution, she opened her senses wide and plunged head-first into the never-ending flow. The spiritual essence blinded her, but she held on in her wild chase, on the lookout, her hand _extended_ toward _his_ too-familiar presence, so sought after that it hurt.

“ _ **Kaname!”**_

 _He_ escaped her for a long time, and she was about to lose hope. But finally, her greedy hand closed on the memory.

A violent but foreign rage exploded inside her, as Zero’s memory unfurled in a succession of images and sounds. A familiar detonation – the Bloody Rose – seemed to whip against her temples.

An argument, fangs bared. A fight, brief and brutal between two vampires; a Pureblood and a mere liegeman, riotous and famished. A blood offering, from the Pureblood who yet was not prey. An ill-accepted offering to the liegeman, predator and yet submitting, only this once.

“ _I’m doing this for Yuuki. So you can keep on protecting her. Remember this, Zero.”_

The scorn in Kaname's voice subtly turned to fervour as he spoke his sister's name. Anger and disgust on Zero's tongue, as he gulped hurriedly, his fangs buried deep into the Pureblood's offered throat.

The memory disappeared, taking Kaname’s presence with it. Yuuki stood still, alone, stunned. She watched the flow of emotion, distraught.

“…Kaname?”

No answer came. Faced with this cruel absence, her violent and irrational hope turned into an ache, deceitful, bitter. Lost in the storm of emotions now overwhelming her, she fell to her knees and curled up on herself, wrecked with silent whimpers.

“…Don’t leave me, not again...Kaname!”

“ _ **Zero.”**_

The voice thundered around her, even more familiar. She shuddered then looked up, stunned. Standing a few feet away from her, a girl clad in a black uniform was staring at her with her hazelnut eyes. She looked tired. Now that surprise had passed, she recognized herself when she was barely fifteen. Had she really been this young, this frail?

Unconsciously, the apparition brushed the bandage wrapped around her neck, and a horrible guilty feeling pierced her. Unaware of her inner turmoil, the human grabbed a lock of her brown hair, wrapping it around her finger, trying to look composed...then stuck her tongue out.

“ _Stop making such a face. I’m fine.”_

She seemed to be looking at someone from above the Pureblood’s shoulder, then gave a radiant smile. Immediately, the guilt she felt seemed to ease somewhat, while sweet and bitter tenderness filled her heart.

“ _Smile, Zero.”_

The high schooler – the human girl she had been, seen by Zero’s eyes – disappeared into the storm, along with all the contradictory feelings she used to inspire in him. Dazed, Yuuki tried to concentrate, tried to withdraw from the storm of emotions brought about by Zero’s blood, in vain. By chasing after Kaname’s memory, she had gone too far...

New images, new feelings. Ambiguous, uncontrollable.

The Academy in ruins loomed around her. A long-haired silhouette was facing her among the rubble. She saw herself once more, young and proud after they beat her uncle Rido, impassive before Zero as he whispered his last threat.

“ _Next time we’ll meet...I will kill you.”_

Zero’s anger, as violent as it was suppressed. His intense feeling of betrayal. His disgust but also the uncontrollable desire seizing him, leading him to bite her one last time.

When he left her throat to kiss her, she chose to turn away from the scene, to run from the memory with all her might, unable to stand it anymore. That was the past, _his_ past, _**Zero’s** _. It was no more, and furthermore, it didn't concern her. She didn't have to see this...

...She didn’t _want_ to feel this! Not anymore! Not after all these years, not when she was barely just getting over it…!

“ **Enough!”**

The Academy faded into nothingness. Despite everything, memories came rushing in, powerful and precise, but scattered.

Kaien Kurosu’s house, so empty now. An empty seat in class. Solitary rounds.

Thirst remained, barely sated by a new-generation of Blood Tablets, when Zero managed to keep them down.

Weeks passed. Zero wasn’t going to class anymore. Didn’t want to, now that _she_ was gone. And despite his nature and his lack of diploma, the Hunter Association doors were wide open for him.

Long hours spent studying in the Association archives. Full-time learning with Yagari, his former mentor, to make up for lost time. First missions, as trials. All successful. His official nomination as a hunter.

Months passed. The Bloody Rose kept singing, insatiable, merciless, carving little by little a career similar to his silver bullets: bright, lightning-fast. Bringing suffering.

Day after day, comments fused around him.

“ _It’s the Kiryu son. There’s no way we can trust him...”_

“ _Bah. As long as he does a good job.”_

The pensive silence of his elders as he roamed the floors of the Association HQ. Their curiosity, the contempt in their remarks. With the destruction of the Academy and Rido Kuran's execution, his secret – already known by the most perceptive and powerful hunters – had definitely been blown into pieces.

“ _Ain’t surprising if he succeeds in all his missions. He knows better than anybody what these animals are thinking.”_

His enhanced senses picking up even whispered conversations, rumours and gossip. His determination in remaining impassive despite everything.

Loneliness, even inside the Association, even among the teams made and unmade through the missions.

“ _Kiryu is young, but he proved his dedication. I trust him...”_

“ _He’s Rei and Elena’s son, we owe them this much. And he’s still just a kid...”_

“ _Yeah, right. Until the day he’s hurt and_ _he rips your throat out to survive.”_

He kept on his way, in all appearance, tireless. In truth, heavy-hearted. Work was his only way out, capture after capture, one execution after the other. He couldn’t allow himself any mistake...for they wouldn’t give him one. Not in the trigger-happy environment of the Association.

And then one day, the final urge after an injury. The Blood Tablets, even from the new generation, even taken in fistfuls, became once more useless and indigestible. He had to face the fact: he had to drink, or die. Of thirst, of madness, shot down by an over-zealous colleague.

The blood of his Level E prey, which he sometimes bit as a last resort before the execution, couldn't be a definitive solution. With his experience, he could find the right networks, come to the right supplier discreetly.

First women. First _preys_. First times.

Guilt and pleasure _interlaced_. The pleasure of blood, finally sated, but, by its very nature, inevitably summoned his lust.

The muddy world of the black market, infiltrated by vampires and humans alike, ready to trade their blood for payment...and more. A constant balancing act between his reason and his principles: he hunted down Level Es some nights, and others he had to satisfy his own vampire instincts. With each bite, he took care in taking only what was strictly necessary, with consenting prey, often duly paid.

Two acts, two irreconcilable entities. Secrecy, easy to keep for him.

Years passed. Relentless, constant work. And sometimes, when the thirst was too strong, the pleasure of blood, but also disgust, guilt, always present...

And **loneliness** , inevitable, nagging. Because he couldn't see himself bonding with a vampire-born, a cast he had always hated and who hated him back. He couldn't even think about getting closer to a human woman, without the risk of betraying himself one day or exposing his companion to his latent dangerous nature. So there was no way out.

He was alone, and he had to remain alone. That was the way things were.

“ _Another victory for Zero Kiryu. This kid’s a machine. Does he ever take a day off?”_

“ _No need to. You can guess why, right?”_

“ _Is that true, what people are saying? He let Kaname Kuran escape after he slaughtered the Senate? Two years ago?”_

“ _He’s a good hunter, but_ _he’s still a vampire. And some say he’s got a crush on a Pureblood girl, to boot. If it happened again, he would probably fail again.”_

Silence. Loneliness. A desire to break all ties, stronger each time he came back to the town he grew up in.

“ _The famous Yuuki? The one Kaname Kuran pulled out of nowhere? He doesn’t settle for less, that Kiryu boy...”_

And, one day, his decision, definitive.

“ _You have all the skills needed for this position abroad...but are you sure of yourself, Zero?”_

Kaien Kurosu’s saddened but unsurprised gaze, now his direct superior among the Guild.

“ _These missions will take you far beyond our borders, even outside our continent...You might not come home for months, even years if you accept one assignation after the other. Why don’t you think it over for a few days? Or maybe talk about it with your master Yagari?”_

“ _I’ve already thought it over, Headmaster. There’s no one waiting for me here, and I’m waiting for no one.”_

Irrevocable.

Travels on the edges of the world, interminable. Constant chases, undercover investigations, dismantling clandestine networks of human traffic to vampire ends – and they were numerous. He had become an anonymous agent, invaluable to the Association – their eyes and ears, their weapon – far beyond their borders.

Zero Kiryu’s name was slowly forgotten, while other pseudonyms – like Tristahn Kelos – were emerging. Many foreign hunters ended up knowing him under these fake identities. Apart from Kaien and a few high-ranks of the Association, no one could make the connection with the obscure Kiryu family massacre and their cursed heir. And it was better this way.

Mission orders came to him encrypted, through informants or any other crude means of communication in the remote regions where he was working alone.

The strangest thing was, loneliness was never stronger than when he came back from his hunts and mingled with the rest of the world.

Time passed, without any hold on him. Hunter most of the time, vampire some nights.

His prey went by, one after the other. All consenting women, met through roaming, attracted by this charm he unwillingly exhaled, this vampire beauty they called mysterious and wild. Women met for one bite, or sometimes one night. One-night stands without tomorrows...Nourishing, soothing experiences, but without any real savour.

Time passed, inexorably. Some lonely nights, questions kept nagging at him, taking advantage of silence and darkness. Was he a hunter for a living, or was he living to hunt? Had he really known? It didn’t matter.

Loneliness.

Was he a vampire turned hunter? Or a hunter turned vampire? It didn’t matter.

Loneliness…

Then the sordid Lisenthard trafficking incident happened.

And Elora.

“ _Tristahn Kelos…?”_

A juvenile face. An innocence no wound could tarnish.

Dove-grey eyes, filled with tears as they faced fire and death, or with muffled anger when she talked about her torturers. Eyes that never gave up.

Slender hands, marked by the destructive madness of vampires, and yet still so soft, so skilled when tending to a wound, to hug Nathan, her son.

A voice he would know anywhere. A humble, precious smile.

“ _You will always be welcome here, Kelos.”_

Yuuki shuddered. A strange mixture of respect, affection and attraction filled her with the mention of the stranger. The woman Zero bit earlier in the night...It was her.

“ _Tristahn…!”_

Silent, her useless struggle forgotten, Yuuki reluctantly gave in, torn between Zero’s sweet exaltation and her own aversion in discovering his private life. The sea of memories engulfed her, and in a few seconds, through the magic of spilled blood, she saw everything. Heard everything. _Felt_ everything.

Elora, standing in the middle of the blaze, holding her child against her. Her awfully wounded flesh, marked by the torture she had been through. Elora in tears before the husband who betrayed her. And yet, still standing.

Elora, defiant and silent before the Association extraordinary Council which was to give a ruling about her, knowing she knew too much. Then Elora, relieved when she heard the verdict brought to her by Zero, wrecked with tears and sorrow as she begged her saviour to stay a bit longer by her side.

“ _Just for today...please!”_

Elora and her nightmares. Elora and her bravery.

Elora and her uncountable wounds, barely healed and still painful, and yet who greeted him with a singular presence, her unharmed child in her arms.

“ _Goodbye, Mister Kelos...thanks again. Thanks for everything.”_

Days, weeks, months passed.

Back to Lisenthard. Elora met by chance in the street, smiling humbly and serenely. Her eyes, both thankful and piercing, and the slight worry in her voice.

“ _Kelos...take care.”_

A few meetings, simple and mundane, for a meal or an afternoon with Nathan. Elora always greeted him with a smile. As if they had just parted yesterday, not weeks or months ago. As if she, too, was living out of time.

Like his superiors, she knew what he did – investigations, hunts, captures, executions – and accepted it fully. But she didn’t know what he _was_. In his circle, she was the only one. And it had to stay that way.

He carried out mission after mission across the continent, but Lisenthard became slowly the centre of his travels. Like a new landmark in his wanderings. A reason, quite tangible this time, to apply the Association law, to fight relentlessly against the Level Es and dissident vampires.

Like a home, a family waiting for him. A call to which he only rarely succumbed.

Like a new meaning in his life, thanks to her...

“ _Stay. Just tonight.”_

A kiss, a plea in the darkness. The fleeting joy when understanding that this strange attraction he silently felt was mutual...

Then fear. Fear that she may discover his secret, push him away, she who hated vampires with the best reasons in the world.

And, most of all, fear of hurting her. To one day lose control of his desires. For his nature doomed him to never keep love, carnal desire and vampire lust separate for long.

Sadness, shame, regret. Heavy-hearted, he ran away. Ran away from her. He should never have seen her again. He never even should have come back to Lisenthard.

Never. Never…

“Yuuki...”

The whisper echoed, distant. The Pureblood shuddered, her heart full of sorrow and remorse that did not belong to her. Pleading for the end of this slow torture, she took another sip of memories, both hurried and anxious to know what happened to this Elora.

“ _It’s the Militia, open up!”_

Zero’s thirst, both foreign and familiar, impossible to hide.

“ _Not you, Tristahn...not you...”_

Elora slammed against a wall, a defenceless, weak prey. Elora in tears, eyes widened in stupor. Elora, terrorized, a sabre in hand, standing between him and the bedroom door.

“ _If you hurt Nathan...”_

Elora, suddenly determined, her eyes earnest and vindictive, just like that fateful night when she had survived the worst. Elora fooling the Militia, facing a wall of firearms aimed at her, forbidding access to her house, where Zero was hiding, unbeknownst to everybody.

“ _I owe you my life. So let me do it.”_

Elora, standing alone before the fireplace. Strangely, horribly serene.

“ _This will be the one and only time, Kelos”_

Her extended wrist, her offered flesh. Her blood, unexpected, guiltily tasted.

And Zero’s sad and appalled anger, burning and screaming even as he became a model of cold-blood and neutrality, to reassure her.

Abandon in her grey eyes as he was _devouring_ her. She who, more than anyone else, he had wanted to spare.

Sickening.

And another impression of _déjà-vu_...why?

“Yuuki. You’re crying.”

She swallowed, unable to stop.

A brown-haired silhouette, all clad in black. Familiar, and yet different. A revolver in her extended hand.

“ _You’re my only hope, Zero.”_

Detonations. Six bullets. In his flesh. Ravaging, unbearable.

And, even deadlier, the indifferent gaze she gave him.

“ _Don’t die.”_

A bite, forced. Revulsion and desire intertwined. Atrocious. Divine.

Memories flooded again, passing through without any logic, reduced to flashes of colour, sound and emotion.

An abandoned house. The walls of a long corridor, splattered in blood, shattered with silver bullets. Two bodies, cold, lifeless. A missing brother. Betrayal. Abandonment. Pain in his heart and flesh, hurting like hell.

“ _Zero!”_

A classroom, students clad in white. Distrust, anger, frustration.

Paper targets, methodically pierced by dozens of bullet holes. The incessant shots of the Bloody Rose. The smell of gunpowder. Concentration, precision. Hatred.

A vice on his throat, burning, pernicious. Arabesques on the skin of his neck, that he traced with his finger as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Disgust and pride, intertwined. His emblem?

Thirst. Bloodlust. Madness, the pain of becoming a Level E.

A staircase bathed in moonlight. An embrace. A bite – the very first one. A woman’s high-pitched scream. Yuuki. A stream of blood on his tongue, beneath his fangs. **Heaven. Hell.**

“ _Zero?!”_

The Association jail, plunged into darkness. Ichiru’s body against his, already cold, bloodless.

“ _Forgive me, Zero.”_

 **Despair. Wanting** _**everything** _ **to end.**

The cold barrel against his temple. The clicking sound of the trigger. Another scream, a hand taking the Bloody Rose away from him.

“ _What’s gotten into you, Zero? Stop it!”_

Wanting to stay, wanting to leave. A kiss, forever unfulfilled in the infirmary.

Another, among the ruins, hurried, desperate, despairing.

A missed presence, so far away.

“ _She’s with Kaname...they both left the country.”_

Forever out of reach.

Elora smiling at him. Elora kissing him.

“ _Stay.”_

Elora passing out, her bloody wrist. Elora sobbing on the other side of the door.

“ _Farewell, Kelos.”_

Déjà-vu. Déjà-vu…

“Yuuki. Stop.”

She swallowed one last time, before pushing away the offered wrist.

And she opened her eyes.

.

 

.

Flames were flickering in the hearth, crackling in the silence. They seemed strangely blurred to her. She blinked, and her vision cleared as a wet trail slid to her chin.

Panting, she progressively went back to her own body, her own emotions, her own feelings. After a long haze, she felt blood drying on her lips, stodgy, metallic. Despite her best judgement, she licked it with a flick of her tongue. _Delicious_. Not enough to bring her back to this stormy sea of unknown memories. But would she have wanted to, anyway?

She sighed – whimpered? – then noticed the salty tug on her cheeks, her lips. Suddenly shameful, she wiped out her tears with her left sleeve.

Something stirred in her right hand and, looking down, she noticed the wounded wrist, pierced with two round, clear cuts, from which a bit of blood was still pearling. She loosened her grip on the offered palm – whitened, marked with her nails where she had gripped it too tightly – and the masculine hand slid out of her vision. She followed it, as if mesmerized, then looked up.

The amethyst pupils examined the two wounds with indifference, before they quickly disappeared under a makeshift bandage. Then he came back to her, and Yuuki shuddered.

At first, she almost didn’t recognize him, her mind saturated with foreign images. Then she parted her lips, her throat dry, unable to say if the deep turmoil she felt was actually hers.

“Zero...”

He broke their visual contact to go back to his bandage, imperturbable. But she knew now that it was just a facade.

“Zero, I...”

Forgetting all restraint, she grabbed his injured wrist, stopping him in his task, and looked for his eyes, in vain.

“...I’m sorry. Sorry about Elora. For what you had to do. For what you have lost.”

Words came to her effortlessly, and she barely thought about restraining them. She had to say it, she had to…!

“If things had been different, I...I wish I could have spared you from this...I...I don’t even know if I have to thank you...It’s...”

Somewhere within herself, the Pureblood was awakening with difficulty, whispering to her that she was talking too much. That she wasn’t a human girl anymore, meant to apologize for everything she said and did. That she was to bitterly regret this sloppiness before a liegeman who already took too many liberties. That she had to quiet and move away, quickly...

But the empathy caused by this storm of memories was slow to disappear. And she had always been fragile during the minutes following blood drinking. Probably another unwanted effect of quenching her thirst...Once her survival instinct was soothed, she always felt fully comforted. Almost invulnerable, safe from everything. She was wrong.

When Zero stared back at her, unreadable, she didn’t blink.

“I’m sorry. For everything. And thank you...sorry...”

Slowly, Zero's eyes narrowed, the amethysts darkened. Firmly, he broke free of her hold on his wrist, finished the bandage without even looking. Then he leaned toward her and finally, she recoiled, looked down, suddenly self-conscious of their closeness.

“Sorry…!”

Gently, Zero put his forehead against hers. His voice rose, hoarse, barely audible.

“Stop it, Yuuki.”

He had lowered his eyelids, frowning. He stayed like this for a long time, as if struggling against himself.

“I already promised you my help. With this pact you’ve sealed, my life belongs to you. Just as it belonged to you once, at the Academy. I’ve accepted it, but...”

Holding her breath, she waited. He swallowed hard, and his voice weakened even more, now nothing less than a vanquished whisper that brought a shiver down her spine.

“But my past away from you...couldn’t you leave me at least this?”

She bravely faced the accusation while, uncontrollable, tears now streamed down her cheeks. Hesitant, she grabbed his hand, but he didn’t react.

“...but you already know everything about mine, Zero.”

“Do you really think so…?”

There was a long silence. Then he shuddered, and gently Zero’s hand closed on hers, warm, enveloping. Her heart pounding in her chest, she remained frozen. She finally closed her eyes, surprised to feel so... _comforted_ , being by his side, her forehead against his, listening to his breath. This was intimate, comforting and...strangely familiar. But had it ever happened before? She searched for her memories from their childhood for a long time, in vain.

“ _K-Kiryu…?”_

“ _Call me Zero...please.”_

Then a distant image appeared: the very first days following their meeting, Zero didn't talk much, hardly ate anything and could remain for days without moving or sleeping. He looked like nothing ever reached him. Back then he only had one demand: he refused to remain alone at night, and only closed his eyes when she held his hand. Though he was older than her, he had seemed too small, so fragile back then...as if he was about to disappear.

But after one week, overnight, he suddenly refused any contact -- today she knew why, as he most certainly wanted to protect her from his fits. But back then she used to think she did too much. Hurt, she still kept on keeping vigil from afar.

This Zero, shocked and desperate, ready to give up, she could never forget him. And now she knew he was still there, somewhere inside this hunter.

Zero sighed deeply. When, slowly, he took his hand off hers and stepped back, breaking all contact, she knew this all-too-short moment of grace just ended. Because she was starting to get herself together, she held back the tears still assaulting her.

“Your blood is always silent, Yuuki. Or too loud, I couldn’t say. But I never read anything in it. I suppose he trained you too well.”

He looked at her one last time, inexpressive once more, then left the couch they sat on. Yuuki remained there, and it took her a long time to realize he was alluding to Kaname. Immediately, the last feelings of euphoria disappeared, as she definitely got back on her feet.

She looked for something to say, before opting for a polite smile. She watched Zero as he put his sabre back on his belt. A weird question came to her: where did this weapon come from? Was it a reward from the Association, or a purchase he made during his wanderings? Did he unwillingly tell her in his memories?

She blushed when she realized she was already trying to remember what Zero transmitted her despite himself. But like a dream that just ended, the numerous images she had glanced were fading away, losing their savours and emotions. Only shreds remained, which for the most part would quickly fade from her consciousness.

A scraping sound of wood followed by an icy draft her brought her back to reality: Zero had just opened a window. Mindless to the cold air now invading the room, he leaned against the windowsill, seemingly lost in a pensive contemplation of the inner courtyard, dark despite the clear sky. The muffled sounds of the city filled the space until now only disturbed by the flickering sounds of the fire. Under the morning sun, the snowdrifts were starting to melt, and an irregular rippling sound was rising slowly from the snowy roofs.

Yuuki stood up too and held back a surprised sigh; it was as if a weight she didn’t know of was taken off her shoulders, freeing her breath. Her sight and hearing, enhanced without being uncomfortable, were filling in with every detail surrounding her. The mesmerizing dance of the flames in the hearth, the silent flight of the specks of dust in a sun ray, the cold and barely-perceptible breeze in her hair...

In a way, it was like being born again. Even if Zero was turning his back to her, she stopped herself from stretching up with bliss, simply taking a deep and long breath. When was the last time since she felt this light?

Since _he_ was gone, most certainly...

Her innocent smile faded with this silent answer, but she refused to wallow in despair once more. Dark thoughts never helped her. Out of habit, she put a hand to her neck, drawing in the air the place where the lost pendant had been. With a bit of concentration, she could almost feel it under her fingers...she chose to smile.

“Elora...I never should have seen her again.”

Yuuki held her breath. She went back on Zero, his back turned to her, still leaning at the window. In the morning light, a trail of mist rose to the rhythm of his breath.

“The Association code is very clear regarding human survivors: hunters mustn't get emotionally involved. We mustn't consider them important at the instant the mission is over. Don’t maintain long-term relation, even mere friendship. Ideally, it’s better to even stop writing. Too many bad situations in the past, between hunters feeling responsible for rescued victims, and surviving humans feeling like they owed them something. Rules protect us all, both hunters and civilians. After all, we’re not living in the same world.”

His voice was neutral, devoid of all emotion.

“I never had trouble following orders. And yet...with Elora, it was different. I couldn’t forget her like I did others.”

Zero’s hand, nonchalantly resting on the wooden sill, suddenly clenched.

“When I saw her that night, facing her husband turned Level E, wounded and lost in the middle of the fire...so alone, so vulnerable. And yet so brave, trying to protect a loved one...I thought I saw you, Yuuki.”

The Pureblood remained frozen, stunned. Zero glanced at her from over his shoulder, and, in the shadow of his anthracite hair, the amethyst of his eyes seemed to shimmer.

“This innocence, this...refusal to accept defeat, even when all is lost. This way of crying without crumbling. This stupid, sickly hope, this unsuspected strength...It was so much like you. The human Yuuki. The one you could have become.”

Zero turned back to look outside and sighed deeply.

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave her behind, too. I didn’t want to forget her...too.”

He stopped. After several long seconds, Yuuki finally thought about breathing again. As if called out by Zero’s words, memories remaining from their blood exchange unravelled before her eyes, in a painful but coherent frame. Like a play of mirrors, images from her former relationship with Zero superimposed with the hunter and Elora’s.

A human woman who liked and admired him, completely oblivious to his vampire status.

A half-tone friendship, laced with tenderness and a barely-veiled attraction.

Zero’s secret, smashed to pieces in one bite, irrevocable, inevitable. And separation, oblivion as the only option.

Hence this ever-present feeling of déjà-vu, this nagging dread in Zero’s memories. He had feared such an ending to this forbidden story, and unfortunately, he had been right. Finally, Yuuki _understood_. Out of pure empathy – was it really because of their blood exchange? She didn’t know anymore – she stepped toward him.

“Don’t come any closer,” Zero abruptly lashed out.

She stilled again, watching him in silence. Inside her, a strange mixture of grudge and complicity was boiling, something she hadn't felt in a long time. When Zero finally turned to her, she realized that once more she had tears in her eyes. She narrowed her eyes and braved his watchful gaze, clenched-fist. How to react?

“Why are you telling me about her, Zero?”

“Because she’s like you.”

And, to her surprise, Zero frowned, while his lips drew a very faint, incredibly bitter smile.

“After all these years...what are you doing to me, Yuuki?”

His until-now calm voice broke for one split second, and she could at last measure up the intensity of the feelings he was hiding from her.

“While we both took different paths? While I perfectly know the human girl I grew up with doesn’t exist anymore? Even when you’re not there, you’re still haunting me, controlling my every action. What’s most pathetic in all this, is that I’m only realizing it now.”

Yuuki’s eyes widened. The sparse memories, that he gave to her unwittingly, finally clicked together.

After the death of his parents and the disappearance of his brother, he had only lived to protect her, she, a carefree, gentle kid. To protect her from vampires, from Kaname he immediately saw as a threat.

He had become a Guardian, even accepted to study in the same high school as the Night Class only because she would be there too. Because she would be his teammate.

When he understood that he was condemned to falling to Level E, he very seriously thought about letting himself die. And yet he held on, despite the despair, the almost-daily suffering. Not for a few days, a few months, but for _years_. He only really tried to take his own life after he bit her for the very first time. Luckily, that day, she had been able to stop him, to convince him to hold on, again.

After she left the Academy, he forgot about his diploma, dropped out of school to focus completely on his hunter career and his hunt for revenge. He could have left far earlier, but he only really left their childhood town once he was certain she wouldn’t come back there anymore.

And it was when he was confirmed that she had left the country, maybe even the continent, that he applied to be a field agent beyond their borders.

Was it to find her and kill her, as he had promised her? Or was it to run away from everything they had shared? Did he really know himself?

“How can you do this to me, Yuuki? And how can I let you keep doing this to me?”

She recovered and quickly wiped her treacherous tears as they fell again. Zero’s eyes were dry, but his resentment and his sorrow were far from hidden.

Just like his tenderness and attraction; guilty, unwitting. Irresistible. It had nothing to do with their new bond of Pureblood and Liegeman: those weaknesses had always been there in Zero’s attitude, even back at the Academy. Too young back then, she saw these as purely fraternal feelings that she, an orphan without a past, was unconsciously looking for to fill this void.

Zero turned away from her, looking outside, and sighed. Dumbfounded, Yuuki didn’t know how to react now that she was aware of his feelings, ambiguous but quite real back then...

But why did finally knowing it warm her heart this much?

“ _You couldn’t forget him.”_

Kaname’s words echoed in her, full of meaning. She closed her eyes for a short moment, torn between relief, shame and a sweet bliss.

She walked to the window and, without paying attention to Zero's slight tension at her approach, she leaned against it too, watched the serene sky for a long minute.

"Do you remember that night, when I told you that between vampires and hunters, I didn't want to choose a side?"

Zero looked at her with surprise, before nodding with a whisper...

“Of course. I think it’s the first time you stood up to me about this.”

“I think the words you used to define my opinion were ‘stupid and dangerous’.”

“Yes. I still believe it.”

She dared to glance in his direction: he wasn’t mocking her, simply pensive. She sighed.

“Vampires on one side, hunters on the other...everything was so simple back then. But it wasn’t really, was it?”

Zero leaned in too and seemed to get lost in distant memories.

“No. And it’s even more complicated today.”

Pensive, he put his hand on his injured shoulder. For the first time, Yuuki could remember their fight – Zero’s piercing gaze, the bloody wound on his back – without feeling any thirst, but her guilt remained, nagging. The apologies she muttered earlier couldn’t excuse her actions. She looked away, ill at ease, and silence set between them.

Yuuki's exhausting tiredness had faded away, along with the overwhelming and bestial desire of the past few days. Her strength was coming back with every passing minute. To feel her mind clear out this much left her puzzled, and despite herself, she thought that she could have given in earlier. Why had clinging to her oath of fidelity seemed so important to her last night? This promise was devoid of meaning now, and to avenge Kaname, she would need all her faculties, all the help she could get. It was pragmatic but logical...So why did she have to resort to such extremities, not only to know it but especially to understand and accept it?

Maybe because last night, she thought she was alone, desperately alone. Maybe because yesterday, she felt like Kaname’s memories were all she had left, and that disrespecting them meant losing even more. But today, she could think otherwise...

Kaien had stated his support, and with his word, it was the Association speaking, in a way. She didn’t dare to solicit Kaname’s contacts immediately; she had to know who was trustworthy first. But regarding her adoptive father, she wouldn’t hesitate: to count him as an ally was something that comforted her more than she would have thought.

And then, there was Zero...

Torn between remorse and relief, she watched him in silence. After five years of absence, she had feared that she wouldn’t find the person she grew up with...and in a way, she had been right. The highschooler she knew and brutally left was no more: life, the Association, his choice of career, and the end of their shared history most certainly had hurt him very much.

And that was without taking into account what she did to him a few weeks ago...yet, Zero hadn't become the bitter, resentful man she imagined despite herself, even less so a remorseless, pitiless hunter like some of his colleagues. At the most, it had been a mask, oh so justified during their reunion…

She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t alone anymore. Yuuki just had to close her eyes and remember this storm of memories and feelings to be sure of it: Zero, beneath his expert hunter demeanour, had stayed the same. The taste of his blood couldn’t lie, she realized with more emotion that she would have thought.

“ _Next time we will meet...I will kill you.”_

The ambiguous atmosphere of their farewell should have been forgotten by now, and yet, it was suddenly as if they were still standing amidst the Academy ruins, watching each other in silence, all their cards played. At the crossroads.

“ _I already promised you my help. With this pact, my life belongs to you.”_

A farewell, and a reunion. Two totally different situations...Yet, Zero’s muffled, almost hesitant voice arose the same feeling inside her, strange but indefinable. Regret, laced with attraction?

“ _I thought I saw you. The human you could have become.”_

“ _Even when you’re not there, you’re still haunting me...how can I let you do this to me?”_

She blinked, out of tears, but her heart still pounding. In this instant, she noticed he was staring at her too. Imperturbable, he went ahead of her.

“What?”

She looked down, stared at the courtyard below.

“All this time without seeing each other...how did we come to this, Zero?”

“And you’re the one asking me this...you’re the one who left, Yuuki.”

“I know.”

They quieted again. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang the mid-day. A few seagulls flew in the azure sky, and Yuuki admired pensively their nonchalant flight.

“You know...there was a time I would have been delighted to know you were still thinking about me.”

Zero seemed to hesitate, then sighed, a mixture of indifference and annoyance, just like the ones he had when he was a teenager.

“...coming from a half-pint, selfish Pureblood princess, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Yuuki flinched. Forgetting the seagulls and their acrobatics, she glared at him. His chin on his bandaged hand, Zero was watching her with confounding impassivity. She bit the inside of her cheek, but her words went ahead of her thoughts.

“And you’re just a stubborn, grumpy and taciturn hunter. I wish I had known what you were thinking back then! Maybe I would have worried less.”

Zero raised his eyebrows, and she knew they both felt the same surprise. Without being taken aback, he replied:

“You just had to bite me that day. You would have known.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, crossing her arms. “Would you have let me do it?”

Zero remained silent, surprised. Then he looked away, lost in deep thoughts.

“Probably not.”

Finally, his lips quivered, drew the shadow of an amused smile. She stared at him with surprise: he may have grown up, matured, but he hadn't lost this smile, this sincere smile you could see more in his eyes.

...that was good, wasn’t it?

She gulped, then muzzled the Pureblood growling inside of her, ill at ease before this suddenly familiar atmosphere.

“I must say that...it still affects me. That you had such feelings for me back then. You’re right, I’m selfish.”

“An I’m still as stubborn and taciturn as I was five years ago.”

On these words, Zero left the window and opened his travel bag, left in a corner. He pulled out a leather satchel, checked the whetstones it contained. Then he unsheathed his sabre in a smooth gesture, studied the blade carefully.

“It looks like some things aren’t meant to change,” he added pensively.

He checked with his index the edge of the blade, and the anti-vampire runes engraved in the metal shone softly. Yuuki closed the window before whispering.

“Since we’ll walk side by side for some time...I find that rather reassuring, Zero.”

They looked at each other again, and both the amethyst and amber pupils gleamed knowingly.

“Yes. Me too.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is near.  
> The first act of BCC will wrap up at the end of April. It makes us a bit emotional... What about you?
> 
> Remember? We're waiting for your gentle “clap-clap”... Thanks a lot.  
> Love,
> 
> Elenthya and Vanamonde – W&W Team


	23. Chapter Thirteen: Eternally- Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, dear deaders,  
> this thirteenth chapter marks, if you may, the first act of Bloody Cross Chronicles reaches its end. For this "Part One", we'll tie off the last sub-plots that lasted us almost five months. Zero and Yuuki, our favourite characters whom we learnt to know again - for better and for worse - will bow out next week...  
> Let's enjoy their last interactions together, will you?
> 
> With love,  
> Elenthya - Words & Worlds Team

 

In the pitch-black sky, the full moon and its flock of stars were shining brightly. Under the milky white light, almost too intense to be real, the valleys were reaching out as far as the eye could see.

Leaning at her window, Yori took a long breath, comforted by this now familiar, peaceful atmosphere. Inside the house and all around it, there was complete silence, barely broken from time to time by the muffled song of a night bird or the discreet sound of the governess walking in the corridor. The air was remarkably warm for the season. She found herself smiling, dreaming.

She glanced behind her and suppressed a surprised shudder when she saw the chaos filling the room. Serves her right, for trying to do a big clean at the end of the day...

Reluctantly, she left the window and went to her desk, carefully avoiding files, boxes and books on the ground, all piled up precariously. She sighed: she would never have thought she’d written so much those last few months, but it was time to put some order to it. With this mess, even her photographic memory would be of no help, and there was nothing more frustrating than to try to complete a written memory without being able to find it quickly.

Back at her desk, she was gathering her last notes scattered here and there when she yawned. Tired, she blinked under the softened light of her desk lamp. Usually, memories became stronger with the night, but, for once, they seemed to leave her alone. After all, she had been writing all day.

She grabbed one last pile of paper, left at the end of the table as if to be put away, when she felt a strange shudder.

“ _Yori.”_

She froze immediately, all senses on alert. The well-known perception was unfurling in a corner of her mind, and, with a mixture of apprehension and resignation, she stopped what she was doing.

“ _Is it really your decision?”_

She closed her eyes and let the reminiscence come to her. Exceptionally, the scene seemed to split in two and take different sides, distinct and yet similar. Suddenly, she relived the memory both inside and outside her own body. She swallowed, uncomfortable – as was usual when she was exploring a memory where she was personally involved.

“ _There may be no turning back, Yori. At least, I can’t be sure of it.”_

A gentle, wan voice. An amber gaze behind small glasses. A serious, watchful expression, impressive on this face that was usually so quick to smile.

Through this stranger’s memory, she saw herself – still so young, so naive – nodding fervently, and heard herself whisper with assurance:

_"Yes, Mr Kaien. I want to join this project. To protect my family. To help Yuuki."_

The former Academy headmaster’s eyes then became thankful.

“ _Thank you, Yori-san. I expected no less from you.”_

Memories – hers and Kaien's – faded in the mist of her consciousness. Darkness engulfed her.

A sword unsheathed with a long hissing sound. Kaien’s suddenly intransigent voice echoed in the void.

“ _This is just the beginning.”_

Yori blinked, back to her reality, then noticed that she was sitting at her desk. Her breath taken away, she looked down and stared at the sketch in her hands.

A circle, meant to represent the Universe, divided in two not by a skyline but by a horizontal eight, the infinity symbol. Above it, a crescent moon, stylized and mysterious, and below a flaming sun. They were evolving under a same dark-grey sky, filled with stars, and though they were separated by the infinity symbol – a ribbon adorned with Hunter runes – the two celestial bodies seemed to be one, each stilled in eternal dawn, like a perpetual beginning.

The vampire, human and hunter casts, distinct but indissociable, depending on each other.

The _Fœdus Aurorae_ emblem, the Pact of Dawn.

With a lump in her throat, she remembered that fateful day, later called the Revelation day. It had only been the first of a long line. In the course of a few weeks, vampire and hunter secrets had been meticulously brought to light. Faced with the facts, humans were at first frightened then indecisive, moved by a gregarious instinct of conservation. People feared the worst. Scandals were turning into everyday news, but beside this worrying agitation, an anonymous group had slowly stepped in, with the open objective of reconciling the two species. During a few months, the news had been filled with their public parleys before Association representatives, vampire Senate or human delegations.

Members of the Pact of Dawn...Vampires, hunters, humans. The role of mediator had never been an easy one, and since they all kept their faces and identities hidden, people first listened to them with fascination before turning on them.

“ _You want vampires and humans to collaborate? That’s just a_ _ **pipe dream!**_ _”_

Within Yori, something broke. A sea of memories submerged her. Hers, and _others’_.

A crowd of stunned humans, frozen in the middle of the street, all eyes on a gigantic news screen where unbelievable images were playing.

A few words, in a toneless voice. A hand clasping on another, looking for comfort.

“ _Kaname...What’s going on?”_

The modern world, suddenly filled with rumours. Newspapers, pictures, amateur videos, out of control. Vampires betrayed, hunters’ identities revealed.

“ _Yori, be careful.”_

Zero back on a mission, greeting her before leaving the Association, his bag on his shoulder.

“ _The Revelation is only beginning. Whether you’re human or vampire, no one’s safe now.”_

Kaien Kurosu sitting at his desk, stricken.

“ _The group who created this Revelation operation calls themselves Anthea. We still don’t know who or how many they are.”_

Kaien Kurosu briefing his subordinates, watchful, inflexible.

“ _Right now, humans still can’t agree on what to make of us. But if we make but one mistake, their panic will be our worst enemy. The media is watching our every movement, and Anthea is waiting for the crack to add fuel to the fire. We have to be more careful than ever. I will not tolerate any_ _slip-ups during you_ _r missions...”_

A vampire Aristocrat staring at her without seeing her, empty-eyed, a muffled voice. Hanabusa Aido.

“ _Kaname-sama is dead.”_

A young long-haired woman, turning suddenly, looking at her with surprise.

“ _Yo… Yori?”_

Yuuki’s smile. An embrace, laughter.

An explosion. A building engulfed in flames. The Forge disappearing under the rubble.

Yuuki screaming. Yuuki crying.

“ _There’s only one Pureblood who could kill Kaname...”_

A gunshot. A couple, covered in blood, alone in the middle of the ruins. Déjà-vu.

The Bloody Rose and Artemis, gleaming. Déjà-vu...

But a different embrace entirely. Passionate. Full of hope.

Short-lived...

“ _You have to leave. Go away...”_

“ _The one time you’re a_ _cting as a proper liegeman, why does it have to be so painful?”_

Nothingness. Darkness.

Hours, days passing, devoid of any meaning. The cold and hard stone under her weakened body.

“ _Yori! Open your eyes!”_

**Suffering. Horrible suffering.**

“ _Yori! Yori!!!”_

“Wait. Wait…!”

Yori instinctively bit her lip, hoping the pain would counterbalance her stream of memories.

“Yuuki, stop…!”

She slid the piece of paper into a book, then buried her face in her hands and curled up on herself.

“Stop!”

The memory tore down, and finally, she could see the desk before her. The erratic pounding of her heart filled the silence, frantic, crushing.

With a lot of effort, she finally regained her breath. On her cheeks, she felt her own burning tears. A metallic taste filled her mouth. That was probably when she bit her lip. She clenched her jaw, drifting between nightmares and reality.

Easy. Easy...one thing at a time. When was the last time she ate something? Or even slept?

A strange buzzing against her temple, quite real this time, drew her attention. Her heart leapt in her chest again. Her eyes widened, distraught. A moth was flying frantically toward her desk light. It hit the white lampshade with a small thud, before laboriously climbing toward the light source. Without thinking, Yori extended her arm to grab the switch, and the lamp went off with a clicking sound.

Sitting still, Yori waited nervously for her eyes to adapt to the darkness. When finally she could make out what was around her, she noticed the moth on the side of the lampshade, a few centimetres away from the still-hot bulb, as if dumbfounded. Its wings, unfurled and slightly shivering, were made of a complex gradation of grey and brown, studded with four black and white spots, rigorously symmetrical.

Faced with these two pairs of eyes seemingly staring at her, inquisitive, Yori felt strangely comforted. She rose a hand toward the animal, looking fascinated by the still-hot lightbulb, and gently chased it away. Quick and alert, the moth flew away. Her eyes followed it until it disappeared at the turn of a shelf, but she could still hear it buzzing, somewhere in the darkness.

The warm night became strangely cool. The silent countryside was replaced suddenly by a strange, distant rumour. She heard indistinct voices, hooves in the snow and engines roaring, the roaring backwash on the hull of uncountable ships, the cry of seagulls laced with sailors’ calls. A harbour.

She briefly closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

“I won’t get any cleaning done tonight, will I?”

As if to answer her, a familiar smell of tobacco filled her senses. Both impatient and resigned, she grabbed her pen. Mindless of the darkness, she began to write again.

.

.

.

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**Chapter 13**

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_**Eternally** _

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It wasn’t a good idea to leave them alone. Not at all.

While he was roaming Lisenthard like a man on a mission, Toga Yagari was pondering about the outstanding tension he’d felt between Yuuki and Zero a few hours earlier. When Kaien Kurosu had asked him to come with him to the town centre, where they had to appear as dignified Association representatives, the one-eyed man hadn’t been naive. His superior also wanted the two young people to talk safely, away from prying ears. So Yagari had left the mansion, reluctantly: while he completely trusted Zero’s cold-bloodedness, he was far from feeling the same about Yuuki. Yet he let himself be convinced by Kaien, who assured him she was totally in control of herself once again.

For, after all, Yagari had thought with bitter irony, hadn't she already spilled enough blood to sate every vampire around?

But to see the crime scene in Lisenthard harbour again had rekindled his worries, and even Kaien’s face darkened when he discovered the square still occupied by the police. Despite the removal of the bodies, the place was still reeling from the violence, from the walls slashed with rage to the puddles of blood absorbed by the snow, without mentioning the weapons and motorcycles of the victims, broken and ripped apart like children’s toys. And beyond that, the two hunters had noticed signs only they could sense as important.

Numerous, insignificant-looking traces in the snow, quite telling of a merciless fight, devoid of corpses but filled with small and revealing drops of blood – non-human blood, Yagari immediately knew. The traces of a brief but intense fight between two vampires, one seriously wounded.

Zero. And Yuuki.

As a Head of Division within the Association, Kaien Kurosu had listened to the Lisenthard police report, for once in perfect unison with the Militia. Yagari, officially introduced as his right-hand man, had been champing at the bit all day. Knowing politics wasn’t his strong suit, the one-eyed man had let his illustrious colleague do the talking, and took advantage of it to study the behaviour of the militiamen present. He had to admit that, seeing these troops and their supervisors, Listenthard was an exception in the human world. the Revelation had unearthed, like everywhere else, many a sordid affair like the town-house case, but despite a few slip-ups, the Militia and other civilian means of defence turned out to be less chaotic than in other, more developed regions.

Former policemen or veteran militiamen, the high-ranks of the Militia were attentive and towards the foreign authority figure Kaien Kurosu and, though they were wary, they respected his decisions. Dunham, their captain, also known as the Butcher, had certainly played a big role in this "acceptance" of the Association interfering in the Lisenthard political and legal business. While most of his co-workers didn't know about his past as a hunter – they thought he was an ex-lieutenant who used to work abroad – Dunham still managed to ensure this reluctant cooperation with the Guild. It was vital for the protection of the citizens, in these troubled Post-Revelation times.

After long hours of discussion, during which Yagari had remained completely silent, Kaien ended – at last! – the crisis reunion with a speech both simple, supporting and yet unwavering. His superior then said he had to go back immediately to their main HQ, as other urgent matters awaited, not without promising logistical and human support for Lisenthard defence, as support from the Association. Support militiamen and policemen alike had both greeted with a mixture of relief and contained distrust.

As they left the police headquarters, briefly away from prying ears, Kaien had taken the opportunity to send his colleague away with a whisper:

“Go get them. We meet on the tarmac in one hour.”

Yagari didn’t need any more. Before the policemen could meet up on the front steps of the police station to escort – and watch – their illustrious guest, President Kaien was already alone, his smile more polite than ever as he talked with Dunham, the captain of the Militia, whom he seemed to know.

Deep in thoughts, Yagari walked a bit faster. As always in those northern regions, the days were short and the sun was low in the sky. It was only two in the afternoon, but already the sun was near the horizon, setting slowly. The alleys of the old town were only darker, and Yagari slid into the maze easily, knowing that, if by some miracle some militiaman managed to follow him, he would soon shake them off.

Walking carefully, all his senses on alert, Yagari finally reached the concealed carriage door and arrived in the small courtyard of the abandoned mansion. The place looked as peaceful as it had been when he’d left that morning, devoid of any smell of blood or gunpowder. Without slowing down, he reached the main building and walked to the floor of their hiding place.

In the living room, a fire was flickering in the hearth. Sitting on one of the old couches, Zero, sharpening tools at his feet, was finishing sharpening the anti-vampire sabre that, for years, he had always carried with him. When he entered, the young hunter looked up from his work.

“Master,” he greeted him with respect and caution, as always.

Yagari returned his nod in silence. Despite his leather gloves, one edge of the sabre was shining, as the blade was gleaming with familiar silver runes. In the immediate proximity of a vampire, the hybrid sabre always reacted strongly, like a hound showing its fangs. Something that Zero seemed to treat with indifference, focused as he was on the care of the ‘normal’ edge, upon which he ran a soft rag to bring the final touch to its polishing.

The veteran hunter quickly studied the features of his former apprentice, watching his appearance and his gestures. His eyes were the same deep amethyst colour as earlier in the morning. His shoulder wasn’t stiff anymore, a sign that his wound had completely healed, just like the cut on his forehead, completely gone. He was pale, but no longer livid, and his canines seemed normal behind his lips tensed by concentration.

He was getting better and better. And probably thanks to this Elora Dunham. Yet Yagari was still torn by this unpleasant idea and, nervous, he searched in his vest for a cigarette.

“Gather your things. Kaien waits for us outside the city in less than an hour.”

Zero’s slow, astute gesture continued, for the rag to reach the end of the blade. Then the weapon went back into its ebony sheath with a slight sound.

“Alright.”

He fastened the sheath to his belt then gathered his gear with a swiftness born out of habit: each tool, even the most insignificant, immediately found its place inside the slots of the long leather band; Zero then rolled it and closed it with a strap.

When the young hunter took off his gloves, Yagari noticed the bandage on his left wrist. Yet another piece of _e_ _vidence_ only he and Kaien could understand.

“Where’s Yuuki?”

Yagari looked around suspiciously. Apart from Zero, his senses told him there was no one around.

“She went outside a few minutes ago. She probably thought you wanted to speak to me alone.”

“Or she’s avoiding me.”

Briefly, the young man’s indifferent eyes shone strangely. As if sardonic...or maybe amused.

“I doubt it. She’s certain that she doesn’t have to justify herself to anyone.”

“And you, Zero, what do you think?”

The hunter shrugged but didn’t answer. His sharpening tools under his arm, he walked to one of the other rooms.

“I’ll secure the hideout and I’ll meet you downstairs, Master.”

Yagari watched him go before sighing impatiently. The carefully crafted coldness of his apprentice was somewhat unnerving – but he had been well-trained. The veteran now knew what it was like to be around someone like him, the kind who chose silence over long sentences.

Deep in thoughts, Yagari smothered the dying fire and scattered the last embers in the hearth, before shutting the blinds. Suddenly moved by intuition, he walked downstairs.

The sun was still setting. Inside the growing darkness of the inner courtyard, the white snow was contrasting, smoothing every nook and cranny. The cold became stark and Yagari, lighting his cigarette, suppressed a shudder. He enjoyed the first puff, before looking up to the roof of the mansion. The sky, which had greyed through the afternoon, was now a flaming pink in the dusk.

“Kuran. I know you can hear me.”

At first, he received no answer. Then a shudder brushed his senses, and the familiar presence revealed itself to him. Like many Purebloods, she had acquired the power to hide her own aura. Another detail betraying her power.

A silhouette appeared on one of the roofs, standing on the edge of the snow-covered tiles. She was wearing another black coat, probably from the cache in their hideout. Mindless of the vertiginous distance between her and the ground, she leaned slightly and seemed to watch the hunter from the shadow of her pulled hood.

“You acted out of self-defence, but it doesn’t excuse your disproportionate reaction. Believe me, even if Kaien does his best to cover things up, this story isn’t over, far from it.”

Yagari took another long drag, his eyes fixed on her.

“But my superior thinks that more pressing matters await us, and you probably know what it is. Your testimony’s required. You’re going back home with us. A plane’s waiting for us outside the city.”

He only whispered, knowing that the Pureblood would hear him easily thanks to her enhanced hearing. Yet she had no reaction. Yagari sighed scornfully.

“And another thing. It’s been a while since Zero owed me any explanation on the company he keeps, and I guess that if he resigned himself into becoming your Liegeman, that’s probably because it’s his only option. But I saw what you did to him just a few weeks ago.”

Bitterly, he remembered the young hunter curled up in the corner of an inn room, his eyes shining with a telling crimson, fangs bared and yet unable to drink the human blood which should have sated him. Zero came to him for advice, a prisoner of an unnatural pact that his master was unable to explain. Yagari had let him go, pretending that he didn’t see anything of his former apprentice’s state, but if he had listened to his veteran instinct that day...

“He showed all the characteristics of an imminent fall to Level E, and yet was unable to sate his thirst. I should have shot him down and, if I had, I don’t think he would have fought it.”

Yagari couldn’t say what stopped him, when he twice thought about executing Zero, back at the Academy. And to find his apprentice in such good health, both in body and mind, barely a month later, had been both reassuring and terrifying.

“I don’t know what is it that you’ve both decided today. But let me warn you, Pureblood.”

He lowered his voice again, but he knew that the threat of his word would be even more explicit.

“No matter the consequences, or what will Kaien think of it. If you abuse the power you have over Zero so much that he loses control again, it’s not him I’ll shoot first, but you.”

Silence fell again on the courtyard, heavier than ever. Without taking his eyes off her, Yagari took a long puff on his cigarette, watchful.

A month earlier, he had advised Zero to follow the Pureblood in her quest for justice. But it was before he could grasp how sadistic the link the vampiress had put between them actually was. Before he saw the Lisenthard massacre scene, and the wounds she had inflicted on Zero.

The dark form shuddered, and he tightened his grip on his gun, locked and loaded in his coat pocket. Without warning, the silhouette leapt. Her outline seemed to blur and, the following moment, she was no more than a dark, strangely pulsating cloud, flying with majesty to the ground, at the other side of the courtyard. Despite the darkness, Yagari easily saw the flow of the thousands of wings, shimmering with red highlights, almost evanescent, uncountable and yet moved by the same will. With a strange whispering sound, the cloud gathered into a crimson and black whirl. In its centre, appeared the familiar silhouette of Yuuki Kuran.

Yagari tried to remain impassive. Even though he knew about the Purebloods’ many powers, he had to admit they had a natural talent for showing off. While he had only heard rumours about Yuuki’s avatar – the Butterfly – it was the first time he had seen it with his own eyes.

The Pureblood looked at the hunter with a crimson, but clear gaze; face to face with her power manifestation, he simply drew on his cigarette once more, impressed still. Had Yuuki been able to move like this last night, the damages in Lisenthard would have been incredibly dire. Thanks to Zero, she had recovered a strength which had been, until this morning, out of her reach...

Was it because of her mortal wounds, which she seemed to have received during the attack when Kaname Kuran perished? But why did it take her so long to recover?

Just as he did with Zero a few minutes earlier, he briefly studied the Pureblood’s attitude, both surer or herself and more relaxed. The vampiress’ irises lost their crimson spark as she recovered her true form. Her aura, filled with a dormant tension ever since her arrival, was now strangely indifferent toward the hunter who just threatened her.

The last butterflies disappeared, fading into her black-clad silhouette or her long brown hair, free from her hood. At last, she blinked and nodded slightly.

"I understand, Mr Yagari. Thank you for sparing him that day."

Speaking like this, in a muffled, haughty voice, her head held proudly high, Yuuki Kuran looked so much like her brother it was almost disconcerting. Instinctively, Yagari tightened his grip on the revolver hidden in his coat.

“I didn’t do it to make you happy, Kuran.”

“I know. After all, you’re the closest thing to a father figure for Zero. Even today. It’s a trait I find honourable...”

Slowly and gracefully, she pulled the fur-lined hood over her long hair.

“Despite the link that bonds us together now, Zero remains, in a way, the master of his fate. Even more so than I would have liked.”

The Pureblood seemed to get lost into distant memories. Her haughty, indifferent mask suddenly disappeared, and for a second, she had a very faint smile, both sweet and bitter.

“But maybe it’s better this way.”

She watched Yagari again, still silent, and seemed to take a hold of herself. Her expression inscrutable once more, she nodded. Then, quickly but with majesty, she left the small courtyard toward the adjacent street.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Off-put, alone in the courtyard, Yagari took a last drag on his cigarette. Steps behind him pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked defiantly at the approaching Zero. The young hunter, his bag on his shoulder, faced with his superior’s silence, raised an eyebrow.

“Master?” he ventured, questioningly.

Yagari crushed the cigarette butt in his leather-gloved palm and slid it in his pocket – an old hunter habit, to leave nothing behind him, not even the slightest object.

“It’s even worse than at the Academy. Each one of you is as disconcerting as the other. I hope you both know what you’re doing.”

Zero furrowed his brow and watched the carriage door Yuuki had just taken.

“It’s not as if we have a choice.”

The young hunter sneered bitterly, but his eyes remained vague, almost nostalgic.

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The persistent smell of the blood-splattered powder snow. The sound of the wrecked motorcycles, led one by one to the dump. The sempiternal movement of the militiamen. The crowd of passers-by, not dwindling a bit, gathered at the police barrages. Morbid curiosity.

Among them, a blond-haired woman, wearing gloves, watched the macabre scene for a few minutes, looking both sad and horrified. The small boy in her arms, wrapped up to his eyes in warm clothes, clung to her neck and whispered something in her ear, his face hidden in her curled hair. The mother smiled tiredly but sincerely, and she strengthened her embrace. She walked away quickly, but with assurance. She whispered something in the ruckus, and the child burst with laughter.

On a gaslight, unseen by anyone, she fluttered her wings pensively, almost tempted to follow the mother and child. Heavy-hearted, she watched them disappear around a street corner. She gazed around one last time, then looked away and took advantage of a gush of wind to fly above the crowd. Silent, tiny, she laboriously reached the rooftops, fluttering vigorously, leaving behind, without regret, the feverish atmosphere of the port. An ascending current brushed past her, and she extended her wings to rise up effortlessly. The ruckus of the crowd and the machines faded away, replaced by the whisper of the wind, cold but soothing.

The sun was setting on the horizon. The air was cooling rapidly, lashing on her fragile wings. Light, gracious, she let herself glide with delight. A gush of wind took her by surprise, and she tried to resist for a few seconds before letting go. Immediately the wind became a stroke, and she spun with it, using a few simple, tiny movements to correct her path.

Underneath her, the streets were beginning to illuminate, still filled with life. From above, the world looked so simple, so small...

So foreign.

“ _Yuuki…?”_

The rest of her body reminded itself to her, so heavy, so far away, comfortably propped at the back of an unknown car. With some slight regret, she closed her wings. And, mindless of the rumbling city rushing towards it, the red-winged butterfly let itself fall.

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“Yuuki.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she drew a long breath as she let go of her control on her tiny avatar. The small part of herself vanished into the void, lost forever.

Her vision of the snowy town faded away slowly, and she looked around, blinded. The car had come to a stop, and the driver’s seat was now empty. As for Zero, he didn’t move, sitting on the other back seat.

Once they were far away from the mansion, Yagari had made them climb into a car, probably lent by a contact of the Association. To Yuuki’s suprise, they all left Lisenthard without having to hide, despite the road barrages the Militia put everywhere. Kaien and the Association had far more influence than she would have thought, and Yagari had, at most, had to show his hunter insignia or his face to see all barricade being opened quickly for him.

But when the last suburbs had given way to snowy valleys and forests, Yuuki, rather than relief, felt the insidious need to _go back_. And, without minding the two hunters’ eventual reactions, she had closed her eyes.

With a sliver of her power – finally hers again, thanks to Zero, she thought reluctantly – she had let her consciousness break free of her physical form. Under the shape of a butterfly born from her blood, her mind seemed to reduce too to a simple instinct, an inferior mind free from all worry...

As tempting as it may be, she couldn’t give in like this to her avatar. Reluctantly, she broke free of her thoughts and cleared her throat.

“Where is Yagari?”

“I asked him to leave us alone for a few minutes. He probably went to meet Kaien.”

Yuuki immediately looked for the familiar aura of her adoptive father, whom she felt was close. The car was parked in the shadow of a grove of trees, near a large empty plain, which she knew was the trail of a closed-down airport, covered in a small layer of snow. In the distance, still and shining in the dusk light, she saw the Association’s private jet. A dark silhouette – Yagari – was already striding toward the plane.

“Where were you?”

Yuuki looked at Zero, who was watching her with a neutral face. Obviously, he knew what she was doing during their trip, and she didn’t try to deny it.

“...In Lisenthard. I wanted to see the... _damages_.”

She was at a loss for words, unable to clearly explain how the sight of the carnage made her feel. _**Her** _ carnage. It was wretched, horrible, disgusting. But why didn’t she feel more guilty? Facing the fact, the scene had awoken in her a reeling, nauseated and nightmarish feeling. Like a surreally tainted decor, as if committed by something else.

But wasn’t it even more frightening?

“I regret it,” she whispered, almost reluctantly, knowing how empty her words were faced with such a slaughter. “If only I knew...”

“What’s done is done. That’s the way it is. Your regrets or apologies won’t change it, Yuuki.”

Zero’s tone was slow but irrevocable. When she turned toward him, he looked at her, his eyes both piercing and inscrutable.

“What really matters is what you’re going to do to avoid doing it again.”

With those words, Zero pulled up his sleeve and took off the bandage wrapped around his wrist. In the twilight, Yuuki saw easily the slight scar, which would be quick to fade away. She pursed her lips at the memory of Zero’s blood pearling from the wound, and suddenly memories that didn’t belong to her brushed her consciousness. More troubled than she would have liked to admit, she turned away.

“I saw Elora and Nathan,” she whispered after a slight hesitation on the toddler’s name. “They’re fine. She seems resigned.”

Memories surrounding the young human, unwillingly given by Zero, were slowly blurring away, like a dream, like any knowledge given during a blood exchange. Yet she thought she remembered this Elora to be a fighting woman. How could things have been different, with everything she had to overcome?

Beside her, Zero seemed to shudder, eyes glued on his scar, and said nothing for a while. Then he pulled back his sleeve.

"I'm not surprised, coming from her. And she's well looked after. She will get through this."

Yuuki caught the glimpse in his eyes: this smile, Zero’s smile, that you couldn’t read on his lips but in his eyes. This smile which gave her hope, back at the Academy, when the surly, taciturn student became too distant, almost too much. This smile meant she still could reach out to him. That he wasn’t just an apprentice hunter hungry for revenge or a vampire sickened by his own condition, but also a human being, able to feel and appreciate the joys in life, however small they may be.

That someone – _another woman_ , she suddenly realized – had been able to awake this in him left her strangely indecisive, almost jealous. Surprised at first by her own thoughts, she chose to smile about it.

“It’s not too late to back down, Yuuki.”

Pulled from her thoughts, her eyes widened.

“For weeks, Kaien thought you were dead, just like the rest of the Night World believed. If you climb on that plane, there’s no turning back. The moment you get close to them, the ones who ordered Kaname’s murder will probably go after you. Is it really what you want?”

Yuuki pulled herself together, then looked at Zero with a gaze she hoped was indifferent. Arms crossed, the hunter was staring at her with his usual neutrality.

“Think about it. Kaname would have wanted you to live, wouldn’t he? What if he sacrificed himself that day to save your life? What if he wanted you to disappear, to stay safe?”

“It doesn’t matter, Zero,” she whispered fervently. “I can’t go on like this, and even less run away. Not without knowing what really happened.”

The hunter narrowed his eyes.

“And what if you die?”

“I’m already half-dead, Zero,” she snapped back angrily.

The amethyst eyes blinked, and Yuuki carried on, more calmly, but heavy-hearted.

“A part of me died with him. Nothing worse can happen to me now.”

“And what if I die?”

“You can’t die, Zero. That’s impossible.”

Yuuki blinked and realized how absurd her answer was. Where did this certitude come from? From their common past? From this distant image of the Guardian who protected her unconditionally, back when she was nothing? A Zero capable of anything, even standing face to face to the strongest Pureblood, Rido Kuran and even Kaname Kuran...may he rest in peace...

Sorrow clenched her throat. Faced with the unfaltering gaze of the hunter, she looked down and tried to support her claim.

“I mean...I won’t let anyone else die for me. And especially not you, Zero. Never.”

She bit her lip, once more unsure of what she felt. And chose to remain factual.

“You’re my only hope to find the assassin. Even if I die, I won’t let anyone kill you, Zero. I swear it.”

For after all, if he disappeared too...what would she have left?

Zero’s silence suddenly struck her, and she was almost mad at him for leading her to confess like this. Clenched fist, she glared at him. To her dismay, the hunter looked more serene than ever, his amethyst irises both piercing and unreadable.

“You already knew my answer, Zero. Why suggest that I run away?”

He sighed strangely, almost blasé.

“My colleagues have always been wary of me, because of my two natures. And if that wasn’t enough, I’ll have to openly support a Pureblood. A Pureblood so desperate she begged me to kill her, last night.”

Yuuki stiffened, still looking indifferent. So it hadn’t been just a hallucination...she really asked something like that. The mere thought of it made her feel sick.

She saw him slide a hand under his coat, where he kept the Bloody Rose. A remnant of distrust gnawed at her, insidious, and she froze even more. But the hunter’s face wasn’t threatening or scornful, merely attentive.

“I’m going to fight for you. I’m going to risk my life for you. I even did so already...I just wanted to make sure that you don’t have any regrets.”

He pulled a tiny object from one of his pockets and put it on the seat between them. In the dusk, an amber gleam caught Yuuki’s eyes; she froze, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Kaname wanted to protect you before anything else, I’m sure of it. So think about it, Yuuki. Come with us, or disappear. After this, it will be too late to back down.”

Upon these words, Zero put his bag on his shoulder and got out of the car. The door slammed behind him, and a deep silence surrounded Yuuki. Ears buzzing, she stared, incredulous, at the object he just put between them.

Kaname’s crystal. The pendant she thought lost forever. He probably picked it up last night. Why give it to her only now? And why did he even bother with it?

She reached out to grab it but recoiled before touching it. It was to get this crystal back that she slaughtered all those militiamen. Not for their blood, even less so to defend herself. She killed them all out of hatred and madness. And this pendant, that they brandished like a trophy, had been the catalyst of all this rage.

This crystal for which she had gone insane...could she wear it today as if none of it mattered? Could she really disregard the monster that, for a few hours, she had become?

She was about to go on a crusade with no return, and she would take with her not only Zero but Kaien, and everyone who would help them. Could she allow it?

Could she even ask justice for everything she had gone through when she committed the irreparable for a mere relic of a lost past?

In the darkness, trapped in the amber coating, the crystal seemed to question her with a slight shimmer.

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To go against the Purebloods.

To have an excellent reason to impose his presence on them, he, a Level D vampire and hunter hybrid. To delight in their obvious disgust.

To stand up to them, looking for the slightest aggressive gesture to which he could rightfully retaliate. To lead an investigation which, eventually, may give him the opportunity to kill one of them… Once, when he was still young and unaware of the mandatory caution ruling the Night World, Zero would have found this both dangerous and exciting. But now?

Now that he was a known and admired hunter, even despite himself?

Now that he was physically bonded to a vampiress – and to not any vampiress: the last heir of what was still considered the reigning family? Now that he was burdened with a chain beyond convention and understanding?

Now that he was no longer the only master of his fate?

In his _line of work_ , faced with his double nature, he had clung to true fact and certitudes to carry on.

The certainty that he could control his thirst.

His trust in the Association, the Association which had given his parents a living, and their parents before them, this ancestral corporation which in return gave him its trust.

The credit he had in his network of informants, those men and women hidden in shadow, allowing him to accomplish all his hunts and infiltrations with tremendous efficiency...

But ever since Yuuki reappeared, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Neither his urges or his bearings. And soon, when his allegiance to a Pureblood was known, even the fidelity of his allies would be put to question.

Until then, torn between the ambivalent feelings inspired by their bond, he had barely had the time to think about the factual impact Yuuki would have on his reputation as a hunter. Kaien and Yagari’s unexpected arrival brutally brought them back to this game of politics awaiting them back home. But were they ready for it?

As he strode toward the Association jet, Zero instinctively brought his hand to his chest, where the Bloody Rose awaited. Against his thigh, under his long coat, he could feel the weight of the hybrid sabre, which had taken him years to master. As always, the presence of his silent companions reassured him. They were there, his bearings and his certitudes. Whether he was alone in an unknown land hunting down a horde of Level E, or surrounded by vampires in a social gathering, the concept remained the same. It was a game of survival, and it required everlasting vigilance, a good chunk of luck and instinct, and, when it was needed, a steady vengeful hand.

Only one thing had changed: he would have to rely on someone other than himself. And it was only up to him to see this _intervention_ as another enemy...or as an ally.

“Zero…!”

Or rather, the decision had been made for him. Never mind, self-pity was out of the question. He wasn’t that teenager scared and full of hatred anymore, who could remain isolated for days to smother a thirst that solitude couldn't soothe. The bond chaining them was immutable. He had to move forward, use this _handicap_ , the same way you had to bear an unexpected wound during a fight to the death.

This was the factual, impartial way to see their situation. The one he should have had since the very beginning, since that fateful day in Klasdic when she had overtaken him.

But had he ever been able to remain factual and impartial when it came to _her_?

“...Zero?”

Behind him, he sensed easily her presence as she came closer, before stopping at a respectful distance. He drew a small breath, then turned to her and watched her in silence.

Her long brown hair flowed down past her shoulders, so long and delicate, waving with the slightest movement, carrying an enticing perfume that he, as a vampire, could hardly ignore. Her breath was calm, her voice neutral but melodious when she called him twice. Silent now, she stared back at him, her eyes hazelnut-coloured, slightly tinted with crimson, maybe because of the last flaming lights of the dusk.

Of the murderous, distraught creature from the night before, nothing remained. And to realize that he had played a role in this change – him, or rather his blood – was strangely... _troubling_. Even satisfying.

So it was this, to be the prey rather than the predator? To feel strangely proud to see the other stronger, more resistant than before? He chased away this needless thought.

“You already know my answer,” she whispered. “Yet I’ll say it again: I won’t back down. I want to know why they killed him. I want to know how, and I want to know why I was spared. And this is why I need you, Zero.”

She slid her hand out of her coat. In the palm of her hand, the pendant he had just returned to her was shining. As she got lost in pensive contemplation of the jewel, an amber glow appeared along the alabaster skin of her neutral face.

“I’m not strong enough yet. As a Pureblood, as a vampire. I don’t want to lose myself again like I did tonight. If you want to, Zero, for our survival, be my Guardian. Once more.”

He held back his breath, surprised. When she dared to meet his gaze once more, he knew how much it cost her to ask something like this. Suddenly she wasn't this haughty Pureblood he saw in Klasdic, nor the vampiress, smitten with sorrow, who, faced with the loaded Bloody Rose, closed her eyes in renouncement. And she was nothing like the bloody, whimpering creature of the previous night, who in a flash of madness had asked him to put an end to her misery.

She was more like the Yuuki of their childhood, the one who one night asked him if he wanted to protect her when she was still unable to do it herself. The teenage Yuuki, wielding Artemis and wearing the Prefect insignia, desperately innocent before the potential dangers of the Night Class.

In her eyes, a maturity acquired too early and too violently had forever chased away this candour. But the strange trust she had in him remained, this trust she never ceased to give him, even after he bit her for the first time, during that most accursed night of all.

An unswerving trust, even as they faced each other amidst the Academy ruins. Even when he threatened her with the Bloody Rose.

“ _If having an enemy is your only reason to live...”_

Even after he kissed her, moved by a desire he could no longer contain.

“ _...I will always keep running from you, Zero.”_

Five years later, she was there again. Even more out of reach. But more self-assured than ever.

“ _You cannot die, Zero. That’s impossible.”_

He looked away and sighed, before chuckling, despite himself.

“You haven’t changed, actually. You always trust any vampire you meet. No matter the consequences.”

His tone, a mix of bitterness and amusement made Yuuki raise an eyebrow. She seemed to hesitate and look for her words, before smiling faintly.

“You’re not just any vampire, Zero. You’re you.”

She looked at the pendant one last time. Then she took a deep breath.

“I know I’m asking a lot. But...please, take it back.”

She extended her hand, palm up, presenting the pendant to him.

“If one day I go too far, you can give it back.”

He looked at the object without moving, then frowned.

“The bond you imposed on us isn’t enough for you? You have to ask even more?”

“This isn’t an obligation, Zero. It’s just...a promise I made to myself, and that I want to make to you too. If one day I’m about to lose control again, I’m asking you to give me this crystal back. If it’s not enough, then you can stop me with any means you deem necessary. Your commands, your blood or the Bloody Rose...absolutely anything.”

Zero looked into her eyes, where a distant pain was still piercing, and he knew. A few hours ago, he had assumed the right to take over, to make her drink his blood if she were to lose control again. But with this tacit promise, through the pendant that was so much more than a mere stone, she gave him her accord.

The implicit right to leave his place as a Liegeman to become her master, if it allowed them both to survive.

“That night, I almost went insane because of it...and for it, I know that I’ll hear the voice of reason. Even more so if it’s you who acts, Zero.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the penultimate chapter in the first act of our tale. Next week will wrap everything up, before the epilogue. As always, we cherish your thoughts and eagerly await your comments and speculations!
> 
> Vanamonde - Words & Worlds Team


	24. Chapter Thirteen: Eternally- Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,  
> This chapter is the last one.
> 
> You know what we feel about... and you know what to do – please?
> 
> Have fun.  
> Love,
> 
> Elenthya

 

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_Eternally – Part Two_

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On foot, the aerodrome trail had seemed to stretch forever. When Yagari finally reached the plane – quite old but nevertheless sturdy – the sun had sunk behind the mountains. The air was getting colder with each passing minute, and the veteran was glad to not have to stay any longer in this country. He was used to being on the field, but there was an enemy he feared more than any other: cold. It stealthily sucked away the energy, troubled the sight and sense of smell of the careless hunter. Forcing the more foresighted hunter to don heavy clothes, it made them slower to react in case of an attack. When you fought a creature naturally fast and insensible to the cold, climatic conditions could radically alter the outcome of a chase.

Pulled out from his thoughts, Yagari nodded politely at the pilot, who used the last of the sun’s rays to check the exterior equipment of the machine. The man, a fellow hunter, greeted him with a gesture before pushing a button near the jet door; it opened slickly.

“Ready to take off, Sir.”

“We’re still waiting for a collaborator, who will be accompanied by Zero Kiryu,” replied the veteran, gesturing at the car parked at the end of the trail. “Let them approach, if needed.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Yagari took the stairs to the cabin. While the door closed behind him, he heard a familiar voice coming from the cockpit.

“Understood...I trust you to pursue your research in this direction.”

Yagari took off his winter coat and threw it on a seat, before lighting a cigarette while pricking his ears. Kaien was obviously in radio talk with the HQ.

“They’re fine. They’re coming with us. I’ll contact you again when we’re on our way.”

After a short silence, Kaien carried on in a friendlier tone.

“Yori? Thank you.”

There was a metallic sliding sound, then steps. The cockpit door opened, and Kaien Kurosu took note of his colleague’s presence, unfazed. He probably heard him coming even before he climbed onto the plane.

“What’s up?” Asked Yagari between two puffs of his cigarette.

His superior frowned at the cigarette lit in the cabin, but with a glare, Yagari prevented him from remarking on it. With a sigh, Kaien sat in a seat and began to clean his small glasses.

“Hanabusa Aido managed to reach Kaname’s other lieutenants. They agreed to meet us for an official debrief.”

“Who are we talking about precisely?”

“For now, only Kaname’s travel companions. That means Akatsuki Kaien and Ruka Souen, plus Aido. But they’ll be on the defensive. We’ll have to prepare our speech very carefully. If they feel like they’re being accused of complicity or neglect, they’ll stop all collaboration.”

Yagari nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. A Pureblood had been murdered and his companion left for dead, her memory altered: that the Aristocrat vampires charged to protect them would agree to speak to hunters was already good enough.

“On the other hand, Seiren is still missing in action. That’s not a good sign.”

Yagari didn’t answer. He vaguely knew this Seiren, a Class D vampiress transformed by none other than Kaname, and one of the most competent bodyguards you could come across. Seeing what happened to her Pureblood master, it was better not to have any illusions on what became of his follower.

He stared at Kaien silently. His colleague, staring ahead of him, seemed already deep in distant reflections. Was it because of the information he had just received?

“So, the Wakaba girl finally decided to join our ranks?”

The amber pupils of his friends flickered with a sliver of warmth.

“Yes. It hasn’t been very long, but she’s already put together precious intel for our case. Her network is impressive...But it’s not a surprise. After all, she’s Counsellor Saito Wakaba’s daughter.”

“You don’t mind seeing a mere human girl take so much risk?”

Kaien shot him a piercing gaze, half-way between surprise and defence.

“She wouldn’t be the first human to do so. And Yori already carried out several missions for the Association, as a consultant and diplomatic attaché. I’ve been asking her to make it official for months, to no avail. But when she heard about Yuuki and Kaname, a few weeks ago, she didn’t hesitate.”

“I know this. But you didn’t answer my question. She’s not a hunter nor a vampire, and she has no military training or auto-defence lessons. She’s easy prey. Why did you assign her to _Fœdus Aurorae_?”

“She wanted to protect her family and help Yuuki. In times like these, staying inactive was painful for her, something I can understand. Her occasional missions give her access to the Association Archives, and sooner or later she would have gotten into trouble by investigating herself. At least now she’ll do it with our help and under the control of _Fœdus Aurorae_.”

“That’s ridiculous. The situation was difficult enough without bringing defenceless humans into it.”

“She’s not defenceless. I asked Aido to supervise her researches and to keep an eye on her.”

“And he did what you told? Hanabusa Aido?”

Yagari raised an eyebrow, incredulous. Kaien gave an enigmatic smile but didn’t answer. He looked out of the window, seemingly watching the forest slowly falling into darkness.

“Did Yuuki and Zero manage to reach an agreement?”

“It seems so. At least they’re talking without being at each other’s throats. After what happened last night, it’s a miracle.”

Kaien shook his head.

“Not really. I trusted them.”

The one-eyed man stared at him, jaw clenched in frustration. Kaien was usually annoyingly observant, but when it came to Yuuki and Zero, Yagari always found him desperately optimistic. Probably an ill side-effect of his role as an adoptive father.

“They aren’t your kids anymore, Kaien, or even your Guardians.”

“I know, even if I still see them like this...and despite myself, I think they have an important part to play in our project.”

Yagari furrowed his brow, remembering the bandage on Zero’s wrist, insidiously linked to Yuuki’s newfound vigour. The thought of his former student sating the thirst of a Pureblood was a particularly disturbing one. Had Kaien expected something like this?

“It’s a good thing if they managed to find common ground,” his colleague concluded, smiling tiredly. “I’m thinking about officially assigning Zero to her protection as long as the assassin is still unidentified. With my position at the Association, I won’t be able to officially support her.”

“Because you think this situation will be easier for Zero? In the five years since he joined our ranks, there’s been barely half a dozen hunters who know about his true nature and still trust him. If he’s close to a Pureblood, his reputation will suffer, far more than any other hunter’s.”

“I’m aware of it, and I never said it would be easy for him. But I trust his instinct and his convictions; he’ll know how to face it. Plus, difficulties always made him work even harder. Kaname understood this very well.”

Yagari drew a final puff on his cigarette to give himself time to think: why mention Kaname Kuran? Silently, he waited a few seconds, but Kaien didn’t seem eager to say more, lost in his own thoughts.

“Yuuki chose quite an ally,” he whispered. “With him at her side, the task awaiting her will seem less tedious.”

Yagari was startled but didn't show it.

“Wait, do you still destine her to...you still want her to succeed Kaname Kuran?”

At last Kaien’s eyes became sharp, and he straightened on his seat, all dreamy tiredness gone.

“Do you think we have any choice, Yagari? Which Pureblood seems the most fit to take on this role, according to you? Sara Shirabuki? You know as well as I do about the suspicions looming on her and her family. Judging by her actions the past three years, I foretell she would use such a position only to her advantage. Isaya Shoto? He’s barely out of a fifty-year hibernation, and he confessed to me he’s already weary of all this politic imbroglio. Vampire and human considerations go well over his head ever since he became the last of his clan. Who else, Lord Touma? Lord Ori? They’re far from being pacifists; if one of these vampires, by some miracle, agreed to join the Fœdus Aurorae leaders, the movement would be on a road to ruin. And I’m not even taking into account the possibility of one of them being behind Kaname’s murder.”

“Kaien, you saw just as I did the massacre Yuuki committed. She killed all those people. And even today, she’s driven by revenge.”

“Quite a powerful force, you’ll agree, Yagari. You’re the one who relentlessly hunted the Pureblood who condemned your companion to Level E; you should know it better than anyone else.”

Yagari narrowed his eye, furious that he would use such an argument.

"What I did back then was my business and mine alone. Now, you're suggesting putting a twenty-year-old kid at the head of a secret international organization. A grieving Pureblood, who just last night murdered a dozen human beings in a fit of rage."

His colleague shot him back his angry glare.

“She acted out of self-defence. Furthermore, Yuuki won’t be alone in this. We will be there to support her and keep her from losing control. Zero will be there. Fœdus Aurorae needs a known leader, or everything we’ve built those past twenty years will turn to dust.”

Infuriated, Yagari was about to take another drag on his cigarette – and damn the pilot’s interdiction – when he halted his hand.

“No, Kaien. _You_ need her. _You_ want Yuuki to take the head of Fœdus Aurorae, with Zero at her side, but in fact, they’ll only be your puppets, right? She will be a prime go-between for the vampires, and him a notable and unique hunter representative. And you, Kaien, you’ll be free to pull the strings from the shadows, from your seat as Head of the most powerful Association division, the one owning the Forge.”

The pieces of the puzzle were suddenly falling into place with disconcerting ease. To his dismay, Kaien said not a word, nor did he make any theatrical gesture to deny the facts. Only another enigmatic smile, barely warmer than the previous ones.

“This is true, and I never hid from it”, he answered with an unusual, almost disarming calmness. “The world knows about vampires. We have to play with the cards we have been dealt.”

Yagari restrained himself from sighing.

"Kaien...do you remember something about hunter neutrality? You can't take a position like this. As long as Fœdus Aurorae acted as a mere middleman between humans and vampires, our meddling was still acceptable. But we both know this time is over."

“Read the moral code of the Association again, Yagari-san, and when you find a written law of this neutrality principle, let me know. But I can already tell you that it’s just this: a principle, not an obligation. For all my life as a hunter, I followed a simple unwritten rule, and the only thing that changed is my patience, wearing thin.”

He crossed his arms resolutely, his gaze hard and devoid of emotions.

“After two centuries spent enforcing the Night Law, I find the same troubles over and over: vampires and hunters overstepping the rules, a few Purebloods thinking themselves above the law, Aristocrats protecting and worshipping them, and, everywhere, innocent people paying the price. Many of my friends, were they hunter or vampires, died to maintain an impossible balance. That’s enough. I don’t know who they are, but the members of Anthea opened a can of worms when they revealed the truth to humankind. I didn’t join Fœdus Aurorae to stay neutral and watch the rest fall down, and even less to bring the world back to what it was before the Revelation. It’s time to act.”

Yagari stared at him carefully. He recognized Kaien’s eloquence, he who had always been good at rousing speeches. But his attitude had nothing to do with the one, dark and threatening, of the “Vampire without fangs” from before, and while carefully crafted, it wasn’t the theatrical and ridiculous persona of the famous Cross Academy Headmaster either. His eyes were honest, his face a bit tired – was he starting to get old? – bearing a serene, almost luminous calmness. This was the Kaien Kurosu who emerged from the Academy ruins five years ago – a disastrous failure – and yet with a renewed presence. A man who, in the space of a few months, had risen to the top of the Association and rightfully acquired the post of Head of Division, which he had refused several times before.

“Are you doing all this for Yuuki?”

Kaien shuddered, and his assurance seemed to falter a bit.

“In a way, yes.”

“She’s no longer your adoptive daughter, Kaien. And I’ve noticed how much she’s avoided you, in the past few years.”

“She took her independence,” replied the veteran with a tired smile. “It doesn’t stop me from wishing for her happiness.”

He grabbed his sword near him, unsheathed a few centimetres of the blade in the fading light of dusk.

“Maybe this is what I lacked for two centuries: someone worth fighting for. A tangible reason to give away the neutrality principle.”

He sheathed the sword briskly, then left his seat.

"Fœdus Aurorae won't survive long without a Pureblood's influence. As for Yuuki, she needs to know the truth about Kaname, but even more, she needs guidance and a long-term goal. Like her brother before her, I know she'll take this project to heart. More than anyone else."

Kaien shuddered slightly, then glanced out of the window.

“They’re coming. Let’s go greet them.”

.

.

.

.

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“This is Artemis. Take it, it’s yours.”

Yuuki’s big brown eyes widened, surprised, and she nodded silently. Lips pursed, she walked to the desk and carefully took the strange metal rod out of its velvet-lined box. She seemed surprised by its weight; she studied it carefully before giving Kaien a puzzled look. Sitting at his desk, he blinked encouragingly.

“It’s a kind of retractable rod. Be careful.”

The teenager weighed the object again in her hands, then whipped the rod toward the ground. Docile, Artemis unfurled in a series of metallic clicking sounds. Behind Yuuki, Zero recoiled ever so slightly, frowning, but the young girl, totally enticed by the carved rod, didn’t notice.

“It’s beautiful…!”

As she studied the metal spear almost as tall as her, amazed, Kaien smiled faintly.

“It has been forged with the same alloy as Zero’s Bloody Rose. Any vampire in contact with Artemis will feel a sharp pain.”

Yuuki shuddered, and she looked at the weapon suddenly more ambiguously.

“In your new role as a Guardian, I want you to be well-equipped.”

“But...Headmaster, I’m not sure I’m...”

Hesitant, she turned to Zero, who raised his eyebrows, questioning.

“Zero has been handling guns for years. But me, I’m not sure I’m worthy of carrying an anti-vampire weapon.”

The headmaster pretended to think. Very early after his arrival, Zero had affirmed his will to join the Hunter Association, and three days never passed without him going to the shooting range to perfect his technique. At sixteen-years-old, he now had nothing to learn from adult hunter apprentice, and as such had been given the Bloody Rose a few months earlier. His seriousness and his lineage made him officially the best candidate for the post of Guardian, and when he finished middle school last year, Kaien Kurosu had, without hesitation, opened the doors of his school to him. But the young man, for obvious reasons, had violently refused to enter the Academy, to the point of dropping out of school for an entire year, despite Yuuki and his adoptive father's exhortations.

One year after this categorical refusal, it had been Yuuki's turn to go to high school, and she naturally volunteered for the post of Guardian and Prefect. And as Kaien planned, it made Zero reconsider...

The Headmaster looked at the teenager pensively. He had finally agreed to wear the white-lined black uniform of the Day Class, and, as it often did, the masculine and very fitting cut of the three-piece suit gave to its wearer a new presence, to the point that he looked a year or two older. With his vest opened, one could see the strap of a shoulder holster, inside of which was the Bloody Rose. Kaien smiled to himself: he never doubted it, but Zero was now the perfect prefect. Silent, discreet, watchful and always ready to take action…

At least, if you went past his deliberately ill-tied tie, his grey dishevelled hair and his piercings, all against the dress code. But “one thing at a time”, as they said…

Kaien went back to Yuuki and watched her as she exchanged a few words with Zero. She was in uniform too, and she made visible efforts to look good, for the welcoming ceremony of the first-year students, in the afternoon. She turned and turned Artemis in her hand without noticing, under her companion's critical gaze. Kaien stopped himself from smiling with amusement and spoke again.

“Everything will be fine, Artemis is more fit for defence than attack. You can’t kill anyone with it. And I trust you, I know you will only use it when absolutely necessary.”

“Wait a minute, Headmaster. Because Zero has the right to...”

She pointed at her companion, more phlegmatic than ever, and stammered.

“...to...to _shoot_ on students breaking the rules?”

“If they’re from the Night Class, I will gladly do it,” replied the Guardian immediately, deadpan.

“B-but Zero! You’re kidding, right?”

“What do you think?”

As Yuuki got lost in outraged stammers, Artemis oscillated in her hands. Inadvertently she almost let the rod fall in Zero’s direction; he recoiled more pronouncedly.

“Hey. Stop playing majorettes. This is a serious conversation.”

“But I **am** serious, Zero!”

“Doesn’t look like it. Keep doing this and you’ll poke someone’s eye out, vampire or not.”

“That’s stupid! You’ll see how majorette I can get…!”

Kaien cleared his throat ostensibly.

“My Guardians? Stay focused, please. Do you have other questions regarding your role in this Academy?”

The two stopped their argument surprisingly fast, as if startled by the unusually calm tone of their tutor. He had been briefing them on the rules inside the school for half an hour, and Yuuki had seemed studious, notebook in hand, when Zero was nonchalant but attentive. They shook their head, one after the other.

“No, Headmaster,” Yuuki added as she retracted the Artemis rod to put it back in its box. “Everything’s very clear.”

She bowed respectfully, while Zero simply nodded.

“Thank you for your trust,” whispered the young woman. “We’ll do our best.”

Kaien watched them wordlessly. While as different as night and day in their attitude and presence, the two new Guardians, in uniform and wearing their white insignia, looked strangely well-assorted.

Oh, and, to hell with seriousness! He let a broad smile creep on his face.

“My darling daughter!” he exclaimed, leaping out of his chair, arms open in the hope – always in vain – that she would come and hug him, laughing. "You're all grown-up now! Zero, I'm counting on you to protect her from the bad vampires! Don't let anyone drink her blood!"

He pointed theatrically to the young Guardian, who was as much taken aback as his companion. Then, just like Kaien hoped, he barely blushed as his amethyst eyes threw daggers.

“You’re both hopeless,” he muttered. “I’m out of here.”

Yuuki, whose cheek had turned crimson red, didn’t know how to react. She was startled when her companion turned around and walked sternly to the door.

“Ah, Zero…! Wait!”

She bowed again to Kaien, then ran to the corridor after her partner, the box holding Artemis under her arm.

“Zero! Where are you going? The ceremony’s about to begin, we have to seat the students...Zero!”

Their steps faded away. Kaien sat back at his desk and chuckled. Then silence came back, strangely heavy. Lost in thought, the former hunter stared at the empty space before him, where a few minutes before he had placed Artemis’ box. His smile faded as distant memories came back.

A cold winter morning, when in a fit of desperate rage, he had tried to murder Artemis’ previous owner. That day, his target had pushed away his attack like one pushes away a kitten’s fangs: steadily but delicately. This Pureblood woman, of timeless beauty, had spared the life of the hunter despite the danger he incarnated. She even apologized for having injured him...

Juri. Kuran Juri. Back then, she was already the mother of a small boy, Kaname, and pregnant with Yuuki.

As if it was perfectly natural, she had revealed to him her wildest dream: a school with vampires and humans, where her children could peacefully discover the numerous sides of this wide world. In the pensive words of this great lady, infinitely older and more optimistic than he was back then, he found a way out. A solution to this weariness he had felt for more than a century, him, a powerful and revered hunter, so weary of his task being constantly renewed. When he came to her with the – nearly-suicidal – wish to kill all Purebloods, he left inhabited with a new certitude: that another way was possible. An objective at least as complex and hard as fighting vampires century after century…

Conscious cohabitation, and even _cooperation_. And since the most powerful Pureblood family endorsed this crazy idea, he thought back then, then he just had to try. For after all, with their surprisingly long life-span, they had all the time in the world to build this so-desired peace...

Kaien stared at the door that Yuuki and Zero had left through a few minutes ago, freshly promoted. They didn’t know it yet, but their respective parents played a great role in the task awaiting them.

Juri and Haruka Kuran once used their wealth and relations to make real their project of creating a substitute for human blood, vital to a conscious and safe cohabitation with humankind. It resulted in the mass production of Blood Tablets, these pills more useful, efficient and cheaper with each generation.

As for Rei and Elena Kiryu, who used to be Kaien’s hunter apprentices, they had more than once showed their support for their former master, by working on the logistics and politic aspects of such a school, and by recruiting sympathizers among the Association and their network. Most of them were teachers and administrators, vampires and humans, who were still linked to them, in one way or another.

And to think that these two couples, both different in their nature and alike in their search for an ideal, had never met in person. Like many people involved in the “Night Class” project, they wished to remain anonymous until the official inauguration of the school, mostly in regard to their reputation and respective families. Sometimes, Kaien Kurosu, who had acted as a middleman, still wondered what would have happened if Haruka and Juri Kuran had been able to speak with Elena and Rei Kiryu...

Less than a quarter of a century later, the main instigators of this project were all gone. After a long personal investigation, Kaien could only gather that none of these murders had anything to do with the creation of the Night Class – something that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty, even years after the fact.

But what happened to this idea, proposed one morning by Juri Kuran in a clear and fervent voice? This idea picked again much later by a couple of hunters who wished to give to their two sons something other than their life of fights and constant moving?

What was left, beside a controversial conception of the vampires' existence, which all recently led to the creation of a new generation of Blood Tablets?

A school of thought of the cooperation between human and vampires of all classes. Projects all lead under the same name, still barely whispered in some circles: _Fœdus Aurorae..._

A school, as a symbol of the outside world, through two classes cohabiting day after day; for now, remaining in a semi-ignorance that was both dubious and life-saving? But to lead home such a great project, one first had to start small...

In the silence of the room, Kaien thought he still could hear Yuuki’s clear and joyful tone, delighted in her new role as a Prefect, and Zero's calm whispers, less enthusiastic. Even though the Night Class had been active for a few years now, its headmaster strangely felt like everything was only beginning.

Could the two teenagers – soon to be adults, Kaien thought with a pang – really understand what was at stake with this experience. Could they clearly measure up the impact the Academy would have on both worlds, if it was discovered earlier than expected? Zero, maybe...his eye on the situation was asserted more firmly, for better or worse. Despite his condition, which by the way seemed stable, Kaien was relieved to see him beside Yuuki. She thought of the Academy less as an ambitious project than as a fantasy of his. She was still so innocent...

He got up from his chair, then chuckled as he remembered Yuuki awkwardly handling her new "gear". When the young girl grabbed Artemis, he had felt a strange apprehension: did he expect the inanimate object to react? But of course, the metal rod hadn’t sparked as it would do in contact with a vampire, nor had it made that gorgeous and terrifying mutation into a scythe, which he had only admired in one very rare situation, in Juri Kuran's hands.

For, after all, Yuuki was human. Juri wished for a peaceful life for her daughter, and she had succeeded wonderfully...

...But it was probably only a matter of years – or even months? – before the young girl would be once again targeted for what she really was.

As an echo to his worries, Kaien suddenly felt a familiar aura. Pushing away his memories, he immediately rose up, listening carefully. Not very worried, he left his desk and opened another door, that led to a library plunged in darkness. Unsurprisingly, he saw the silhouette in front of the window, protected from the light of day by heavy drapes.

“Hello, Kaname.”

Until then lost in contemplation of the outer courtyard, the Pureblood deigned to look at him pensively. He bowed plainly, as always inhabited by the natural grace of vampires of his rank.

“Headmaster. Forgive my intrusion. I didn’t want to disrupt your briefing.”

Even though the Night Class lessons would only start again the following night, he already wore his white uniform, impeccably fitted, accentuating his supernatural Pureblood presence. Surreptitiously, Kaien noticed that he not only had grown even taller, but that his lanky silhouette was broadening with each passing month. He was looking more and more like Haruka Kuran.

“I didn’t know you could hide your presence like this. Are your powers returning?”

He had always been aware of the true identity of the one called Kaname Kuran, son of Juri and Haruka Kuran. With the death of the two Purebloods, Kaien was probably the only one to know this secret – along with Rido Kuran, wherever he may be hidden now. But before this child he had seen growing for ten years, Kaien sometimes forgot he wasn’t speaking to a young Pureblood born seventeen years ago, but to one of their oldest ancestors…

A being who, to survive in his weakened state, had to regress back to a newborn, losing in the process most of his powers and memories. An unheard-of process, if the Association and Senate archives were to be believed.

“Little by little,” Kaname whispered. “It was more than time. It only took two years to recover my memories, but I would never have thought that my Pureblood abilities would take so long to reappear.”

Kaien Kurosu silently nodded. Until now, he had been able to feel Kaname’s approach as he would any vampire, but it seemed now compromised. He chose to be happy about it; the Pureblood was one of his most trusted allies, and it had been strangely off-putting to know he was forced to obey the Senate, unable to make use of the incredible abilities his extraordinary longevity once offered him.

Off-putting...and even tragic, in a way. It was like seeing an ageless creature, extremely wise and powerful – potentially incredibly dangerous – being pampered, guided and manipulated by shady politicians and opportunistic counsellors, like an ignorant child prince….

The Pureblood king. Officially, the soon-to-be-of-age heir of the greatest Pureblood family the modern world ever knew, and officiously, far more...

A Founder. One of the very first vampires to have walked the earth ten thousand years ago. Even for Kaien, who was past two hundred years old, to imagine such longevity was impossible. Yet this extraordinary being, in appearance so proud and young, looked quite lonely to him, standing in front of this window...

“Despite my warnings, you chose to put Zero Kiryu into the Day Class. It would have been more logical to have one prefect for each section.”

Still looking outside, Kaname’s serene voice became accusing. Brought back to reality, Kaien scolded himself for his propensity to nostalgia.

"It was either this or Yuuki probably being the only Guardian this year, Kaname. Zero wouldn't have stood for joining the Night Class. Not to mention that its current members wouldn’t take too well the presence of a hunter son in their ranks, vampire or not.”

The Pureblood gave a brief derisive smile but didn't answer. Intrigued by his focus on the Academy courtyard, Kaien walked to the window and raised his chin. Through the window, he saw a small brown-haired silhouette flailing around a few others, clad in the same black uniform.

Miss Prefect was already on the warpath, checking the last preparations for the first years welcoming ceremony. One alert eye could see her new thigh holster underneath her skirt. Her adoptive father smiled proudly.

“You left me no instruction when you gave me Artemis, Kaname. I armed Yuuki. Was I right?”

“In light of her new task, it seems essential to me.”

The wind rose in the courtyard slowly filled by students, and the few clouds still hiding the bright spring sun scattered away. As if reluctant, Kaname completely turned from the window and leaned to in, after closing the drape a bit more.

“Juri and Haruka did everything they could to give her a peaceful life,” he whispered, crossing his arms, “but she won’t be able to escape Rido and his followers forever.”

Kaien’s smile faded a bit.

“Yes, I’m aware of it. I hear disturbing rumours every time I go back to the Association HQ. Darkness is rising.”

Lightyears away from their worries, Yuuki was running here and there, using her whistle vehemently to give more weight to her orders. A lanky silhouette, looking quite infuriated by her little game, stopped her disorderly run and snatched her whistle in order to tell her something without raising his voice. Yuuki bounced with impatience but reluctantly listened to Zero, before going back to her work with as much ardour, but more organized this time.

“She can’t be safer anywhere than here, with us and surrounded by all the Night Class, Kaname. Plus, Zero is with her. He’s carrying the Bloody Rose, and he’s become a fine shot. And I know how dear Yuuki’s protection is to him.”

Usually self-controlled, the Pureblood scoffed, alarming Kaien.

“If this is your idea of safety, Headmaster...good for you. From my point of view, Kiryu is as much a threat as he is protection.”

The former hunter easily felt disdain in the Pureblood's voice, filled with frustration as he said Zero's name. Although hurt on behalf of his adoptive son, he didn't answer; he knew the origin of this animosity – had he not feared raising suspicion, Kaname would probably have taken Yuuki's protection upon himself. To see that someone other than him – a hunter, a lower-class vampire moreover – had taken over this right, was obviously very hard on him.

“Zero is stable,” Kaien answered simply. “I trust him. He will come to me if he feels his condition worsen.”

“If you say so...nevermind.”

In the darkness, Kaname’s pupils shone a slight crimson.

“Yuuki is too trusting. She has to realize what the Night World really is. Her disillusion might come from him.”

Kaien was startled and analysed his words again and again. Doubt crept over him, insidious.

“So that’s your reason, Kaname? If you let Zero near her...Is it because you hope he’ll lose control in her presence?”

He glanced at the courtyard below. The two prefects just finished placing the students, before the upcoming speech from last year's valedictorian. When Yuuki, with her usual clumsiness, stumbled on one of the cobbler stones of the Esplanade, Zero, with light-speed reflexes, grabbed her arm, sparing her a fall. Yuuki, as well as a few other students, stared at him with surprise as he gave her a good talking to for her lack of attention.

“You want him to _scare_ her? For her to then turn away from him?”

In the shadow of the drapes, Kaname held his distrusting gaze, still impassive. After a long silence, he whispered, even lower.

“It would be incredibly devious. Do you think me capable of such a thing, Headmaster?”

He spoke each word carefully, and between his lips, Kaien easily saw the sharp end of his canines.

“I don’t believe anything. It’s a theory,” replied the hunter, cautious.

He who, a few minutes earlier, let himself fall into the illusion of youth and loneliness given by the Pureblood, he was suddenly more aware than ever of the reality: this Kaname, Juran and Haruka’s cherished elder son, who docilely obeyed the Senate and took part in the “Night Class” experiment with a remarkable attention, this Kaname was nothing but a facade. He was, before anything else, one of their race’s oldest ancestors, and one of the most powerful still alive. A force of nature who had crossed millennia.

In this instant, more than anything else, a doubt blinded him: Did Kaname help him to serve his late parents’ project? Or was it rather the Academy and Kaien’s entire network servicing the Kuran heir’s schemes?

For Kaien, who ended up putting his adoptive daughter’s safety at the centre of his preoccupation, did it change anything?

He looked down again at the crowd of students below. His own selfishness made him feel uneasy. Of course, Yuuki's happiness was a priority, just as Zero's well-being, as he had been under his care for four years. But he was also the Headmaster of Cross Academy and the leader of the ambitious Night Class project. Dozens of lives hung in the balance. He couldn’t decently narrow his vision to two people – as important as they may be...

Kaname spoke again and seemed to echo his thoughts.

“Rest assured, Headmaster. Everything I do today, I do it to protect Yuuki. To preserve her innocence as long as possible.”

Despite the daylight, Kaname looked through the drapes. His mahogany pupils, barely hinted by a sliver of ruby, easily found Yuuki among the crowd. The valedictorian’s speech had begun, and she sat near the podium, sitting straight. Beside her, looking a bit disturbed by the sunlight, Zero had crossed his arms and closed his eyes, his head gently nodding. She elbowed him discreetly, and, against all odds, he opened an alert eye, shrugged and suppressed a yawn, looking completely bored.

“I will do everything I can for her to know this peaceful existence her parents wanted for her. Even if it means letting her mingle with some dubious people. As long as you can control said _nuisance_.”

Kaien looked at Kaname indecisively, torn between wariness and gratefulness for the one who was after all a cornerstone of the Night Class project. His hunter instinct warned him to be careful, and thus he chose a diplomatic answer.

“Your desire to protect Yuuki is pure and praiseworthy, Kaname. I hope your actions will reflect it.”

‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’, as the saying went.

Kaname left the window, nodded deferentially before walking to the door with serenity.

“Who knows what fate has in store, Headmaster. Good day to you.”

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.

.

“ _When the time comes, I want you to give this vial to Zero Kiryu.”_

Hidden in a secret pocket, Kaien thought he could feel the small satchel, which had never left his side since Kaname gave it to him. Although said vial was sealed and meant to be opened only by Zero, the Headmaster didn’t dare to think what would happen if its existence was known. Now that Kaname Kuran was dead, his remains had acquired an inestimable worth, a source of power for anyone who could get them.

Kaien walked a few steps into the snow and shook his head nervously, hoping to shake away his stormy thoughts. Even without turning, he knew Yagari had followed him, silent, disproving. The Headmaster shrugged and sighed; he didn’t expect his colleague and friend to be easily convinced by his previous speech. But the one-eyed man, whether he shared his convictions or not, would not betray him, and in times like these, such fidelity was priceless.

Kaien looked up to the duo walking toward them, and his weariness slowly faded away as he faintly smiled. Silent, he watched them both, and suddenly nostalgia took hold of him. He hadn’t seen them together in five years.

“ _If she doesn’t come to you, Kaien, then you will only find her with one other person.”_

He smiled. Kaname was right, once more. But how could these two appear so alike and yet so different?

The small human child was long gone, just like the Pureblood teenager still awkward and a bit lost. Now an adult, she distinguished herself by her proud allure and calculated measured gestures. Through the past couple of years, he saw her train herself alongside her brother, dressed, attired and respected as a Pureblood should be. But even in these desolated lands, without make-up and jewels, in these unremarkable and comfortable travel clothes, she breathed the same aura of power, of dangerous purity. Like a delicate flower defended by sharp thorns, she incarnated both Haruka's silent presence and Juri's unattainable beauty.

Yuuki looked to her right, and, without noticing, matched her step to the hunter walking alongside her. His eyes open and inscrutable, he kept a hand on the hybrid sword on his hip. His black coat blew in the icy wind, revealing his holster and the Bloody Rose, his emblem. The exacerbated – almost unconscious – defiance he exhaled in his youth had turned into a defensive aura, less sharp but even more intimidating. A repressed vampire, as well as an apprentice Guardian, who had once left the Academy without turning back. It was now a seasoned hunter walking to him, an Association agent whose double nature had become the most efficient and most unpredictable of weapons. Had his parents Rei and Elena Kiryu, whom he was about to surpass, expected the tortuous path their elder son would have to take?

As always when he thought about his late friends, Kaien felt bitterness in his throat. He knew and loved their parents, all four forgotten founders of Foedus Aurorae. With them, he had dreamed of a world where vampires, hunters and humans would live alongside, fully aware of their differences and similarities.

Now that their realities finally collided – for better or for worse? He had to create a new era with their promising, but oh so young children. It was both an honour, a source of pride and a burden Kaien wasn't sure to be able to carry, even if, as he said to Yagari, there was no turning back now.

As the Head of the most important of the Association divisions, he often doubted the future. But tonight, his legendary optimism – “your hopeless credulity” as the more down-to-earth Yagari sometimes said – came back more easily than ever. And he could smile sincerely to the two young persons.

“Yuuki. Zero. Welcome.”

The hunter simply nodded, as always. The Pureblood did the same and added a small, almost diaphanous smile.

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

Kaien tried to not give in to the surge of nostalgia arose by this title. He looked at each of them with more attention.

“Did you manage to set things straight between you?”

He easily sensed Yagari's annoyed scoff beside him but chose to ignore it.

“Yes, Headmaster. We’re ready to follow you. But I have something to ask you.”

Yuuki glanced at Zero, who answered with a blink, then stepped forward.

“I will take full responsibility for what I did in Lisenthard, but only if I’m allowed to investigate and ask justice for Kaname’s murder. I’m the sole survivor of my clan and the only one who can do it now.”

Kaien nodded, saddened by the cold voice of his adoptive daughter, in which he sensed a sliver of despair.

“And this is your most basic right, Yuuki.”

A heavy weight seemed to lift from the Pureblood's shoulders, and she rose her chin, her eyes once again unreadable. Behind her, Zero's gaze became even more watchful.

“In the catacombs, you said you had information about the murderer.”

Kaien simply smiled – she was straightforward like she used to be. He stepped aside and invited them to climb into the jet.

“There’s a lot to say, and I too have a request. Once in the air, we’ll be able to discuss without fearing interruption.”

Zero then stepped forward too.

“So we’re going home?”

Yagari nodded.

“That’s the plan, yes. Why?”

“We were thinking about postponing my official reappearance, just for me to try one last thing,” Yuuki pursued. “Well, Zero had this idea, since he knows the Association resources more than I do.”

She glanced again, with less certainty, to her companion. Kaien watched them with surprise. Apparently, they had talked about far more than last night’s events.

“What is it about?”

“Hunters always possessed a science of their own to alter the memories of humans.”

Zero knew what he was talking about: like any other hunter of his rank, he had learned about the rudiments of spells and science needed to erase small and average memories. It was a little-known but indispensable asset in their missions alongside humans, inherited from the very first hunters who drank a Pureblood’s blood to acquire the power necessary to survive.

“And obviously, Yuuki’s memory has been altered by the ones who murdered Kaname. I don’t know how much and why, but it means that at least one Pureblood’s involved.”

As always, whenever her brother was mentioned, a veil fell over Yuuki’s eyes for one second. Yet, she carried on with an assured voice.

“I need to get my memories back. Without them and the details they hold, it will be my word against my kin’s. But according to Zero, no one’s powerful enough to break a spell sealed by a Pureblood...”

Kaien felt Yagari stiffen beside him, aware too of the turn the conversation was taking.

“...except maybe you, Headmaster. You who were called “the Vampire without fangs”. My memories and my blood are at your disposal. Give me back my memories, whatever the cost may be to me. And you will have my eternal gratitude.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Yes, there will be more. Just a little bit. Next week.
> 
> Are you interested? It's up to you now!


	25. First Act - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank to Ghostbunny, who was kind enough to be our beta-reader for this story, while giving us valuable comments with each chapter. If you're reading this, we salute you and hope you'll renew the experience one day. Who knows, for BCC2 or another one of our project?  
> Love,  
> Vanamonde & Elenthya - Words & Worlds Team

_**Epilogue** _

 

 

 

 

 

“ _Give me back my memories, whatever the cost may be to me. And you will have my eternal gratitude.”_

 

Yori concluded Yuuki’s request with a period, made a line break and stopped, pen still in the air. She hesitated several times, suddenly at a loss for words. And finally, her hand came back almost by itself toward the centre of the page to draw the arabesque marking the end of her chapters.

She put down her pen, sighed shakily. Then she leaned back in her chair and held in a pained moan because of her sore back. Slowly, she left her desk and stretched. As always when she stopped her writing sessions, her body seemed stranger to her, numbed by stillness while in her mind, she felt like she had travelled for days without resting. She pushed aside her copper-blonde bangs from her face. Her hands were cold, but her eyes and forehead were burning.

And at the back of her throat, awoken by these memories that didn’t belong to her, a well-known sensation -this thirst- gnawing at her...

Yori looked at her disorderly desk, her mind on fire. There were still so many things to do, so many things to write...Their journey back home, hunting for Kaname’s murderer.

Their attraction, still barely evoked on paper. So many secrets to reveal...

But this evening - tonight? - she had lost track of time - picking up the pen made her feel strangely weary. With a sigh, she turned away, walked through the bookshelves and reached the massive wooden door.

She extended her hand to the doorknob when suddenly she stilled, a lump in her throat. What was she going to find behind this door? Was it locked, or not? Wasn’t it better for her to stay here, ignorant, but safe, blissfully sheltered in her dreams?

She took a deep breath and, with a nervous tic, she pushed away all these memories -hers this time - engulfing her. She grabbed the doorknob and, to her relief, it opened as planned.

Behind the door, no white wall, nor nurses. No stunned screams or escape attempts in the plastic-lined corridors. Only a darkened, familiar corridor.

Reassured, she left the room without turning back.

The house was silent. The heavy drapes were all shut, but a golden sunray sometimes managed to slip through any gaps. She took in the contemplation of the light on the varnished wooden floor, then listened carefully before tiptoeing to the living room. The sound of deep and slow breathing led her to the couch, turned opposite to the door. Stealthily, she stepped in and rose her chin, smiled when she saw the person on the couch, sound asleep.

Still wearing a shirt and dinner suit trousers, his white silk tie barely loosened, Aido seemed to have lain down immediately upon getting home, his priceless jacket thrown on the nearby armchair. An open book laid on his chest, as if he had tried to stay awake, in vain. During his sleep, his head had slightly rolled to the side, and his curly blond hair spread over the leather armrest. His long eyelashes fluttered slightly, and his lips briefly formed a smile, then his breathing quieted again, deeper. She smiled tenderly: what was he dreaming of?

She watched him with impunity, her heart pounding. To see him sleep was a rare privilege -he usually was the first one awake- and she never grew tired of it: in such moments, he would let go of all his charming, carefully tailored ways and his innocent smile then was worth all the posing which made him famous at the Academy.

When she emerged from her reverie, she was already leaning on the couch armchair to watch him as much as she could. Under his alabaster skin, because of the angle of his head exposing his neck, his beating carotid would have been noticeable even to an inattentive human. She gulped, filled with memories, and hesitated for a long time over whether or not reach out to him, wanting to stroke this perfect skin, shivering to the rhythm of his heart. Then she clenched her fist and shook her head, cheekbones reddening. He was sleeping so well...

“...voyeur.”

About to slip away, she stilled, looked down. The innocent smile had gone, replaced by another, more pronounced, a bit mischievous. Slowly he opened one eye, and the blue iris watched her, gleaming whimsically in the darkness.

“You weren’t asleep, were you?” she whispered.

He nodded ever so slightly.

“Not since you entered the room. You’re getting better, but the day when you take me by surprise hasn’t come yet.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He closed his eye, settled back in the hollow of the couch, like a cat huddling up to resume his nap.

“Go on...I don’t mind, you know.”

He stretched with a deep sigh. She understood what he meant and blushed even more, shaking her head.

“No. Seeing how you fell asleep, this soirée must have been exhausting.”

As if to contradict her, she felt a hand close on hers. In a split second, he was sitting, looking up to her. The book fell from the couch with a dull sound, but neither of them reacted.

“Not so much, Yori. It was just boring.”

He rose up again, and she stopped thinking, leaned above the couch. Their lips found each other, with a gentleness which surprised her every time, carrying her away. When he slid a hand along her throat then behind her neck, she repressed a sigh, deepened their embrace. Surreptitiously, she felt the more-pronounced edge of his canines reflect his desire. He was good at keeping appearances, but he couldn't hide everything from her: it had been a few days since he last sated his thirst.

Reluctantly, she broke their kiss.

“Aido, I...”

She felt his masculine hands close around her shoulders and back to bring her closer, then her feet left the ground. She let out a surprised yelp. He shushed her with another kiss. The following moment, she was laying on him, dizzy, off-balance. He nestled his face in her copper hair, then laughed as his arms embraced her tightly, possessive.

“For once, you’ve come out of your cave, let me enjoy it.”

She was unable to respond, one of her burning cheeks against his silken shirt. Surrounded by the music of his heart, she closed her eyes and waited. But Aido sighed happily, and slowly she felt him relax under her, without letting her go. Unlike what she had previously thought, he hadn’t planned to bite her. Not that she would have minded...she blushed violently at the thought.

Minutes passed, and she relaxed as well, lulled by the music of his heart against her ear. Another kind of heat slowly replaced her embarrassment, and she nestled against him more. She took a deep breath, taking in his familiar, mesmerizing smell.

“Aido…?”

The young man’s breath quickened, and she knew he had begun to fall asleep.

“Mmh?”

She straightened up a bit to look for his eyes.

“Thank you. For keeping all this to yourself.”

He opened his eyes, looked at her wordlessly, sleepy-looking. Then a gentle, _loving_ smile spread on his usually mischievous lips.

“Anything rather than betray you.”

His smile persisted for a few seconds then faded away. He blinked, and frowned.

“But...are you sure? What you’re doing with these memories...”

Again, an unusual emotion inside his eyes: worry. It moved her.

“I promised myself, Aido.”

“I know that...”

Almost too reverently, he pushed her copper bangs out of her face.

“I know it’s important. But will you be able to cope, this time?”

A shadow fell over his blue eyes, and she knew they were both thinking of the same thing, taken back seven years.

Screams, tears. Memories too heavy, too numerous, unbearable. Panic attacks. Inconsiderate gestures, running away. The suicide attempt.

The internment, ruled by Saito Wakaba, Yori’s father.

And once the memories had been buried and the stories locked away, the slow, too slow, recovery...

“What if it ends like...like seven years ago?”

Aido’s voice, so proud usually, went out in a whisper. He blinked, aware of the importance of the question. Immediately she slid her hand onto his, held it against her cheek.

“Seven years ago, I didn’t know what I was doing. And I didn’t have you beside me, Aido. I love you. If you can trust me, I will succeed.”

He was left speechless, and she blushed even more. While she was at ease in writing such speeches, she usually couldn't bring herself to say this out loud.

Then he chuckled and hugged her with unexpected strength. Pressed against him, breath taken away, she heard him whisper against her hair, which he kissed fervently.

“Idiot...Idiot. Of course I trust you.”

Blushing, she curled up against him again and sighed. Yes, she was thankful for him being here. To help her, to keep the secret of her ongoing project. To apologize for her when she disappeared without warning, or during lunch meetings where they were both invited and she was conspicuously absent.

Supporting her...loving her.

“’Until death do us part, and even beyond’ ...Do you remember?”

She smiled. She opened her eyes and stroked the wedding ring on his hand, the same that the one adorning her own finger for two years now.

“Yori...please. It’s been several days...”

She gulped with apprehension but nodded. She rose up to be above him and immediately he captured her lips, his arms sliding from her neck to her slender waist to press her even more against him. She shuddered, held back a sigh of pleasure when, slowly, he broke the kiss, teasing her ear with his breath. She nestled her face in Aido's neck, shuddering.

“Allow me to do a bit more. For you,” he whispered.

A tongue tasted the offered skin. Their two breaths quickened in unison. A moan, both surprised and hurried.

Then Yori sank her teeth in her lover’s tender flesh. He shuddered but tightened his embrace. Blood ran on her tongue, familiar, voluptuous. Like each time, she tasted this surprising tenderness he had for her, this unexpected and shared love which had only grown stronger through the years.

Exalted, she let herself go.

.

.

“ _Yori!”_

_Vertigo. Nausea. Pain._

“ _Yori, open your eyes! Please!”_

_She was grabbed, carried, long enough to put something against her head to hold it. Hands fluttered on her wounds, distraught, as if unable to choose which one to treat first. There were so many..._

_Pain, atrocious, everywhere...yet fading away, so slowly. Her breath slowed. Her heart was pounding, distraught too. Yet, a nefarious torpor numbed her senses._

“ _ **Yori! YORI!!!”**_

 _She opened her eyes with difficulty, but her vision was getting darker. She had trouble recognizing the one looming over he_ _r but identified her by her_ _silhouette, the sound of her voice._

“ _Yori, I’m sorry...so sorry...”_

_Yuuki. She was crying._

_She wanted to comfort her; tell her it didn’t hurt anymore. That her torture would soon end, and that it was all that mattered now. But words failed her. Her voice had gone out, just like her pain._

_Serene, she closed her eyes._

“ _Oh no, no! Yori…! Yori!”_

_Her heart finally slowed down. The void was submerging her._

_And then pain, again. A different one. On her wrist. A cautious mouthful, barely a sip. Then her limp arm was put down._

“ _Yori...please...”_

_Another biting sound, more distant, but she felt nothing this time. Then silence. A hand gently grabbed her chin, and warm lips pressed against her icy ones: a warm liquid slid on her tongue, strong and metallic. She wasn’t strong enough to react, and, about to suffocate, managed with an immense effort to swallow. Once, twice. Thrice._

_The lips moved away. Hands grabbed her cheeks, shaking, while she felt a forehead pressed against hers._

“ _I’m sorry, Yori...I’m sorry! But I cannot let you die...I swore to never force this life onto anyone...but at least, you won’t suffer anymore. I have to go now. But you took my blood, so everything will be fine. And Zero will come, I know he’ll take care of you...He’ll feed you, he’ll protect you.”_

_Cold drops landed on her cheekbones. Tears._

_"Tell him...tell him everything you know. Everything I feel for him. He will resent me for that, I'm sure. But ask him to forgive me...and you too, Yori...forgive me."_

.

.

.

“Yori…?”

Aido's blood had ceased to flow. She pulled back her fangs but kept her lips sealed on his skin, careful not to waste a drop. Then, when the two cuts were about to heal, she left his throat, putting her head on his broad shoulder, eyes closed.

Silent, she savoured the effect this much-loved blood gave in her flesh. Indescribable. Both the same and different from anything she could ever experience through the _memories_...

Aido’s blood. It was the only blood that could compare with Yuuki’s, the Pureblood who changed her. The one who, through an inexplicable twist of fate, had awoken a strange -and terrible- power inside her...

 _Yuuki_...

She whispered in a voice so hoarse, so plaintive, that in other circumstances, she would have been ashamed.

“Aido, are you alright?”

His only answer was a reverent kiss on her forehead.

“You always leave more than enough for me. Rest.”

She sighed contentedly. Now that the thirst was fading away, there was nothing to keep at bay the exhaustion accumulated those last few days, and sleep was taking hold of her. Yet she struggled.

“But, what about you...?”

“Later. Sleep.”

With a groan, he stretched underneath her and, opening her eyes a bit, she saw him grab the vest on the nearby armchair to cover her up. Wrapped in his smell and warmth, curled up against him, she would have liked to let herself go.

Alas, it was without the memories inside her.

“ _Yori!”_

“ _Yori...forgive me.”_

Hers, and others.

She bit her lips as tears came to her.

“Thank you, Hanabusa...for understanding.”

He sighed, amused, and wrapped a protective arm around her frail shoulders.

“You’ll thank me later. Sleep, I said.”

She nodded silently, but in her half-consciousness, she couldn’t remain proud and strong. When her tears slid down her cheek and soaked Aido’s shirt, he shuddered.

“Yori…?”

“I miss her, you know...I miss them both. Zero...and Yuuki.”

She gave a muffled sob, and Aido gently tightened his embrace.

“It’s been so long...and though I know they must be better where they are now, I...I miss them so much! And before she left, I wish...”

“ _Forgive me, Yori.”_

“I wish I could have told her I don’t resent her...for transforming me. I never could...”

“I know, Yori. That’s why you write. To get over their absence, to dominate this power. To soothe the memories they left you. To tell why Kaname died, and to prevent such a tragedy from repeating itself. I know all this...”

With one hand, he unmade his white silken tie, held it to her so she could wipe her tears. She couldn’t resist, and buried her face in the soft fabric, filled with his smell.

“Sleep, now. I’m here.”

His calm voice became the echo of the blood he gave her. He was there, and would always be there...

She closed her eyelids. As she progressively assimilated the beloved essence, the memories were finally fading away, replaced by her husband’s. Against her ear, his chest was rising in a steady rhythm, lulling her to sleep. Aido’s heart was beating, soothing, surrounding her with its muffled song. She gave in to it.

In a corner of her mind, mountains and snowy forests were passing indefinitely under an azure sky. Sitting near a window, safe from the wind and the cold, a familiar brown-haired woman was staring at the white landscape in silence.

In a seat in front of her, a man seemingly asleep, arms crossed, his hand nonchalantly on the silver gun in his chest holster. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she had stopped watching the landscape to stare at him in silence.

They exchanged a single gaze. She nodded slightly, and he blinked knowingly.

Then she went back to the icy lands as he closed his eyes again, his senses alert. At the doors of sleep, Yori smiled faintly at them.

She wouldn’t fail again. She would write, again and again, about them, their quest, their bond. Nothing could stop her anymore. And Hanabusa was watching over her...if she lost herself one day against the violence of the memories, he would know what to do.

Distant, muffled, the old voices were whispering at the edge of her dreams, carrying images and pictures that she, for the most of them, never saw herself.

“ _We can try to give you back your memory, Yuuki, but it’s not a precise procedure.”_

“ _Do it, Ka_ _ien. I prepared myself for it.”_

“ _It might be painful.”_

“ _...I’ve outlived far worse.”_

A tribunal. Dozens of Purebloods and Aristocrats, silent, disapproving. Facing them, Zero and Yuuki. Alone against the world, but unshakable.

“ _In the name of my brother, I come to seek revenge for the unspeakable crimes against my family. May everyone here take heed of my oath: I will not rest until the one responsible is punished as they deserve it.”_

A long road filled with still-untold dangers.

“ _Yuuki, Kaname’s murderer can only be...”_

A truth long since unveiled, causing as much suffering as relief, that Yori had to put into words, into concrete images.

Until this memory of blood, they gave her could finally be appeased.

“ _Yori, open your eyes!”_

“ _Forgive me, Yori... you will live, but forgive me...”_

A jail. A hopeless prison. This dark place where she became a vampire...

Yuuki’s sacrifice to spare her. Her return to civilization, now a vampire, stable but lost without her mistress...

“ _Zero...Zero, it’s you!”_

“ _Yori...Where’s Yuuki?”_

“ _She stayed there. She stayed with them...Find her, Zero! Find her...”_

“ _She’s the one who...changed you, isn’t she?”_

Until the memories may rest in peace, too.

Dusk. An old mansion, far from everything and everyone. An exhausted life, a soul about to flicker away.

“ _Zero...what if I forgot everything, what if I chose to run away, to begin anew...would you stay with me?”_

“ _Is it what you want, Yuuki?”_

To write these bloody chronicles which had been tormenting her for so long. To give these memories to the ink and paper, to finally be free of them. Only then would Yori finally live for herself, fully.

Serene. As they probably were, somewhere. Out of reach.

Somewhere else. Together.

“ _My life belongs to you, Yuuki. Ever since the first day. And forever.”_

Once more, she felt tears rising up, tears that did not belong to her. As if moved by a feeling, Aido tightened his embrace.

And, a smile on her face, Yori fell into a deep slumber.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers, this is Vanamonde speaking, your friendly translator.  
> Back in November 2017, I was alone and bored in Quebec, Canada. So I thought it would be a good idea to re-read one of my favourite unfinished VK fanfics from back in the day.  
> And here we are, more than a year later, with said fic completely translated and published! This has been a labour of love, one I couldn't have done alone. For this ultimate chapter, I would like to thank Ghostbunny, who provided a tremendous help into making the text go from "French person translating into English" into "Legitimate English". I can't thank her enough!  
> I would also like to thank Wordreference, Linguee and the Merriam-Webster Thesaurus, without which none of this would have been possible. Also thank you to the numerous VK fanfics I read through my formative years: without you, I wouldn't have made big progress in English Class, wouldn't have majored in English Literature and thus wouldn't have been able to do the third of what I've done on Bloody Cross Chronicles. Reading fanfics can have unexpected results!  
> And, lastly, thank you to Elenthya for writing such a great piece of fanfiction. With the state the manga's in right now (...which had been the norm for quite a few years, sadly), we have to rely on fanfictions to provide great stories fit for our beloved characters. Bloody Cross Chronicles is such a fic.
> 
> But this is not the end. As you may know, act 2 of BCC is currently being written, and in the meantime, you'll get a one-shot starring everybody's favourite B-couple: Aido and Yori.  
> But...I want you to know translating is hard work. Hard work I gladly did when I was young and innocent and had no idea what "translating 200 000 words" really meant. The rest, dear readers, is up to you. Should I translate the sequel went it will come out?  
> Be vocal. Let yourselves be heard. Otherwise I may assume it is not worth the trouble, and merely enjoy BCC2 in French, as a fan, and not as a translator.  
> The decision is yours. No pressure! :-p  
> With love,  
> Vanamonde
> 
> xxxxx
> 
> Hey! Elenthya here, BCC's original author. Apparently, it's time to bring out the tissues...so, here I am! 🙂
> 
> When one of my adorable readers suddenly announced me, some 4th January 2018, that she had started translating BCC, I was astonished. Then impressed. Then delighted! Then, I have to say, a bit afraid. Let me explain...
> 
> Writing a story and publishing it is to expose oneself to a lot of setbacks and even cruel disappointements. It means facing criticism, but also to the indifferent silence of a fandom you love. I've been publishing for 15 years now (half my life!), so I got used to it, and since I'm still at it, it musn't be so bad!  
> But learning that someone wanted to translate my story has been the source of an incredible pride...and, briefly, terror. What if it was badly done? What if it was never completed? What if the person had bad intentions, wasn't serious? I'm a perfectionist, and BCC is, so to say, my baby, my first child. To see it go into the hands of a stranger to reach the English-speaking world was almost heart-breaking...like a mother watching her child going on a trip without her.
> 
> Fortunately, it was Vanamonde BCC went on a trip with. A passionate VK fan, but also a fan of BCC ever since its first publication in 2008. Someone I learnt to know and who, quite naturally, fit into my small world of an amateur writer with her fervour, her kindness, her knowledge in litterature and her seriousness. Someone I'm now proud, happy and thankful to count among my closests friends.  
> With Vana, my wee BCC has grown up, more beautiful, and is now ready to go into war for the second act! With Vana, the Words & Worlds team is born, and we're not stopping anytime soon!
> 
> The BCC project went far beyond my expectations, weither writing-wise or on a personal aspect. It's only making me more eager to finally write the sequel, that has been growing steadily for 10 years inside my mind. The team is here to support me, and I will do my best to tell them what happens next to Zero, Yuuki, Yori and all the others!
> 
> And you, who are reading those lines, today, tomorrow, in a year? What are you waiting for to make yourself known? The Team thrives from our past experiences and the comments we recieve. Think about it, before leaving this page and closing our book: I'm writing BCC2 with my heart and my mind, with my blood and my guts. It's never too early or too late to give me a sign, to tell me you're waiting for it, too.
> 
> I bow out to you. Thank you for reading this, and, hopefully, see you soon!
> 
> Love,  
> Elenthya


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